




























Class JPZZ>_ 

Honk ~F \ Q 9_ 

Gopyiiglit iN'.’_Vi__ 

CO O '/ Ost 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 


im 


imnimni 


nmiiii 


iiifiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiii 


iimu, 


mail' 




























I 


WITCHERY 

OF AN 

ORIENTAL LAMP 


BY 

JOHN FAME 

i ' 


For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man 
Is blacken'd — Man's forgiveness give—and take!” 

Omar Khayyam. 


> > > 




NEW YORK, N. Y. 

THE BEST SELLERS CO. 

P. O. Box 20, West Farms Sta. 


CrVa*A 3- 

\ h 


J 














Copyright, 1923 , by 

THE BEST SELLERS CO. 


All rights reserved 



no?26 23 


MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OE AMERICA 


Cl ft? 04330 _ 


a 







CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

PAGE 

I 

Judge Harmon. 

I 

II 

Sipping the Devil’s Blood .... 

. 25 

III 

Soft Shadows of Night. 

. 44 

IV 

Heritage. 

• 59 

V 

Sunny Smiles. 

• 93 

VI 

Interference. 

. 125 

VII 

Prayer. 

. 147 

VIII 

Home. 

. 168 

IX 

Springtime. 

. 187 

X 

Old Rose and Ivory. 

00 

0 

cs 

• 

XI 

Christmas. 

. 229 

XII 

Bursting of the Bubble .... 

. 252 

XIII 

At the Verge of Eternity .... 

. 267 

XIV 

A Midnight Removal. 

. 292 

XV 

The Doctor Awakens. 

. 301 

XVI 

The Little Journey Taken . 

• 334 

XVII 

Redemption. 

• 343 


J 

















WITCHERY OF 
AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


CHAPTER I 

JUDGE HARMON 

L ONG years of uprighteousness are not as¬ 
surance against the inroads of folly. The 
turning point in a life may come in an in¬ 
stant, with a chance gaze into enrapturing eyes, or 
with an initial sensing of the alluring stimulation 
of a substance in liquid or other form. It was in 
a late afternoon when the sun shone rather dimly 
into the office of the Massachusetts doctor whose 
life is herein depicted that the events in this trag¬ 
edy began to occur. Doctor Rumford was clos¬ 
eted with a patient in his secluded treatment room 
situated at the rear of his luxurious office when 
there entered into the spacious, splendid outer re¬ 
ception chamber two gentlemen. 

One was a tall, comparatively slim, well-groomed, 
and brown-mustached music master, apparently in 
his late thirties. He was mild mannered, but had 
acquired a peculiar flippancy of speech through min¬ 
gling with men who did things that he himself would 
not do. He was comically loquacious and could 
unbosom voluminous speeches in a passing moment. 







WITCHERY OF 
AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


CHAPTER I 

JUDGE HARMON 

L ONG years of uprighteousness are not as¬ 
surance against the inroads of folly. The 
turning point in a life may come in an in¬ 
stant, with a chance gaze into enrapturing eyes, or 
with an initial sensing of the alluring stimulation 
of a substance in liquid or other form. It was in 
a late afternoon when the sun shone rather dimly 
into the office of the Massachusetts doctor whose 
life is herein depicted that the events in this trag¬ 
edy began to occur. Doctor Rumford was clos¬ 
eted with a patient in his secluded treatment room 
situated at the rear of his luxurious office when 
there entered into the spacious, splendid outer re¬ 
ception chamber two gentlemen. 

One was a tall, comparatively slim, well-groomed, 
and brown-mustached music master, apparently in 
his late thirties. He was mild mannered, but had 
acquired a peculiar flippancy of speech through min¬ 
gling with men who did things that he himself would 
not do. He was comically loquacious and could 
unbosom voluminous speeches in a passing moment. 





2 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


The man with him was a somewhat squatty and 
heavy-browed gentleman nearer the half century 
mark. He was sturdy of form and florid of com¬ 
plexion. He had a grayish mustache but slightly 
darker hair, brownish and thinned into a wide 
parting in front, with a bald spot in back. His 
brows overhung. His eyes had faded to the color 
of sea water yet were stern. He bore a slight ab¬ 
dominal obesity, but nevertheless he possessed a 
youthful wiriness and a most cultured resplendency 
of person. 

“How did that Malbright case fare, Judge?” 
asked the music master at the moment of their 
entry. 

The squattier man, thumping heavily with his 
unneeded cane, cleared his throat angrily and 
spoke, “Pugh! that scoundrelly sot! I gave the 
woman a divorce and the limit of alimony. Turner, 
I have no patience with such weaklings!” 

“Well, Judge, I’m sure you’ll take a fancy to 
Doctor Rumford. He’s a fine type of fellow, an 
acquisition we’ll be proud of.” 

“Ahem-m—that will be killing two birds with 
one stone if he can better my throat and prove 
worthy of our friendship; we need good men,” as¬ 
serted the judge gruffly as he seated himself in a 
sumptuous chair and cast his eyes about in startled 
contemplation of the multifold adornments of this 
singularly palatial reception room. Dusky and ob¬ 
long, quite like an imperial chamber in miniature, it 
was brightened at its further end by the glowing 





JUDGE HARMON 


3 


door glass of the aforementioned treatment room. 
This pane was enriched most appropriately by a por¬ 
trait of the Good Samaritan, for of the Guardian 
of Mankind the doctor in this hour was undeni¬ 
ably a true disciple. 

Further of the practical furnishings that the 
judge noted were a grotesquely carved massive 
black leather divan; embowered by a peacock-and- 
Japanese-figure adorned screen from Nippon, also 
a large blackwood center-table neatly laid with 
magazines and a few books on divergent subjects, 
likewise the doctor’s spinet desk bearing a fan¬ 
tastic lamp and set a little to the left at the rear 
of the divan. The ceiling was somewhat heavily 
wrought in a gilded relief that framed mural paint¬ 
ings of super-exalted saintly ones and cherubim 
semienveloped in clouds; the shadowy sidewalls 
were hung with magnificent paintings whose sub¬ 
jects were voluptuously beautiful. The left-hand 
corner was agleam with a massive bronze art 
lamp, a geisha girl whose glowing beacon lighted 
a grandfather’s clock standing beside the door to 
the doctor’s private sanctum, the lamp also casting 
a soft radiance to the left upon a door leading to 
his home chambers. Still more of this cumbrous 
darksomely blended eccentric detail that the jurist 
observed toward the front of the room were a 
gold-leafed crystalline curio cabinet and a pearl- 
inlaid Buddhist image container, also an exquisitely 
fabricated baby-grand pianoforte set resplendently 
in a forward alcove. 


4 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


“Whew!” Judge Harmon ejaculated, his roving 
eyes fairly exuding his amazement. “I didn’t ex¬ 
pect this!” 

For a moment Turner stood jauntily engrossed in 
studying one of the exquisite paintings, a copy of 
Bouguereau’s “The Lost Pleiad,” and ignored the 
jurist’s remark. He presently recalled himself to 
less spiritual things, turned and moved noiselessly 
to a chair beside his companion and spoke: 

“As I was saying, Harmon, I’ve picked up quite 
a bit of information concerning our new townsman 
here.” Turner lowered his voice lest it carry be¬ 
yond that sacredly lustrous door of the doctor’s 
examination chamber. “I was talking with the 
neighboring Mrs. Ruband. She has managed to 
gain an intimate acquaintance with Mrs. Rumford 
—a fine woman, she says—home-loving and a won¬ 
derful mother. Mrs. Ruband drew her into tell¬ 
ing something of the doctor’s origin. It seems 
Mrs. Rumford herself was an English girl reared 
on a large estate—” 

“If your music wanders as much as your talk, 
Turner, you’ll never make a great composer!” 
laughed the jurist. 

The musician narrowed his eyes genially. “I 
guess my tongue does need oiling a bit,” he con¬ 
tinued, “but hearken to me, partner. Mrs. Ru¬ 
band says that the wife is something of a hypochon¬ 
driac, a pessimist, a seek-sorrow, ever giving lip to 
forebodings of her approaching death, although 
she’s a handsome creature, broad between the eyes, 


JUDGE HARMON 


5 


brown-haired, blue-eyed, with a comely small 
straight nose, a woman taken all in all superbly 
molded—” 

“There you go harping about the women again, 
Turner! Tell me about the man—the man!” 
The sly judge was interrupting to get time to visu¬ 
alize this portrait. 

“Is there anything finer under God’s sun?” ques¬ 
tioned his companion, smiling. 

“Or for God’s son—which, Turner?” 

“You’d best let me proceed with my summing up, 
your honor,” the musician laughed. “The doctor’s 
wife appears to be too phlegmatic, not quite the 
right woman for her spouse, who nourishes a natural 
hunger for society’s pleasures. Paradoxically, how¬ 
ever, our fascinating friend is a genius at his pro¬ 
fession. Moreover, his labors seem so greatly to 
fag him that despite his inborn inclination I doubt 
he’d have the strength to indulge in our Elysian 
pastimes.” 

“Undoubtedly a fine woman, don’t you think, 
Turner? I mean Mrs. Rumford.” 

The musician’s eyes twinkled merrily at this self- 
revealed hypocrisy of his comrade’s mind. He as¬ 
serted, “Only, different natures require different 
mates, Harmon.” 

“There’s no rose without its thorn, Turner. 
Well, we’ll see; our set’s not the least of ’em—but 
quit dingdonging on the womenfolk—go on about 
the man! The man!” 

“Not to be irrelevant, Judge,” the professor 



6 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


smirked derisively, “and to be brief, the doctor, 
after finishing his college and hospital studies, at 
first became assistant to his dad. The latter was by 
environment a Pennsylvania Dutchman and a mem¬ 
ber of the old school of physicians. Friend Pater 
is described as being to-day a short-statured, goodly- 
paunched and Vandyke-bearded gentleman, bow- 
legged and more squatty than you—” The mu¬ 
sician’s eyes twinkled again at his companion. 

“Humph!” grunted the listener. 

“He acquired his bent legs from riding horses 
in the Civil War and elsewhere. In his youthful 
days he rode horseback across the country to partici¬ 
pate in the gold strike of ’49 in California; and it 
seems the old boy was then an individual with fierce 
black mustaches, as headstrong and violently 
whiskey-tempered as any of the motley band of cut¬ 
throats with whom he consorted in his continental 
crossing. He apparently possessed no actual crim¬ 
inal or vicious qualities, excepting his capacity second 
to none to sedulously soak up firewater.” 

The judge ahemmed, conversant with the type. 

“The Rumford family trace their main lineage 
back to a boatload of settlers from Switzerland— 
part of the Swiss Navy, I suppose!” Turner snick¬ 
ered. “But they arrived here. As Mrs. Ruband 
opined, accomplishing the impossible seems to be 
the hobby of the Rumfords. Like many of our kind 
the boys have managed to lie around drunk for 
many moons, so saturated as to have the alcohol 
fairly oozing from their pores, yet they have sur- 


JUDGE HARMON 


7 


vived—aye, as soon as they are sobered they even 
disclaim all guilt of such doings and prate about the 
virtue of ceaseless industry.” 

“Why, this one doesn’t drink, does he, eh?” 
queried the judge. 

“No; he has a brain, but an awful heritage!” 

“Bosh, Turner! A man doesn’t drink unless he 
wishes to.” 

“Righto, Judge! But to proceed about the 
father. After narrowly escaping death at the 
hands of enemies, who waylaid and felled into the 
dust another of the genus homo in mistake for him, 
this fiery pater returned to his marital hearth. A 
decade later he joined the Union Army, and as a 
surgeon trimmed the wounded soldiers, I hear, with 
a skill peculiarly his own. I gather that it was a 
sort of inhuman butchery sometimes needlessly 
enacted. But a doctor must get practice!” Turner 
snickered. “And furthermore, when he discovered 
any would-be non-combatants he immediately dosed 
them with castor oil, the after effects of which he 
had found made a man prone to quarrel, putting 
such red blood in his eyes that upon gaining the 
battlefield he was ready to fight even his own 
mother-in-law—” 

“Quit being facetious, Turner!” the jurist grum¬ 
bled. He was a good listener, but he had his limi¬ 
tations. 

“Oh, you can’t browbeat me here, out of the 
courtroom, Harmon! Doctor Rumford will prob¬ 
ably be coming out in a moment, and you had better 


8 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


listen without interrupting if you want to know 
about his kin before you meet him. It appears that 
when the Civil War ended, the grim old guzzler’s 
hankering for adventure in remote regions kept his 
wife in a tremor of nervousness, she fearing he’d 
quit her hearthstone again. As he had some nine 
sons and no daughters he probably didn’t see any 
necessity for his presence as a money-earner. Con¬ 
sequently in attempting to accomplish this trying 
task of home-staying, he literally clung to the fam¬ 
ily hearth-mantel, in a reeking stupor. He evi¬ 
dently busied himself more with pouring burning 
liquor upon the smouldering conflagration within 
than with scattering prescriptions amongst his neigh¬ 
bors. I guess the old toper’s throat was the crater 
of a diminutive volcano. He kept himself in a 
state of semivicious intoxication, a course not very 
filling to his wife’s purse; and in consequence the 
boys were obliged to make up the monetary de¬ 
ficiency, and I dare say some of their hard-earned 
cash was expended for their progenitor’s booze. 
Even this Doctor Sidney here, at the age of eleven 
worked for a time that way—in a shoe mill. But 
he soon graduated from that pursuit. He’s too 
much of a superman. 

“Well, Harmon, with realization of his advanc¬ 
ing years an inspiration apparently seized the old 
codger, for he finally took to practicing again, then 
successively educated his six living sons and took 
them into the business with him. This Doctor Sid¬ 
ney proved to be the brains of the first group of 


JUDGE HARMON 


9 


four. He was the steady one, the others all being 
heavy drinkers. The eldest son, Dan, is a small, 
thin man with a mediocre mentality. Another son, 
Karl, possessed a germ of vagabondage, and has 
since developed into a full sonata of vagrancy. A 
third, whom they nicknamed Jock, became a victim 
of delirium tremens and was a whole circus in him¬ 
self. Harmon, there’s no denying the alcoholic 
strain in their blood, and it seems to be an inherit¬ 
ance from untold generations of topers. Three of 
the older sons died from troubles which I under¬ 
stand are due to alcoholism in the parents; to tell 
the truth, it is said that even the buxom mother has 
ever kept her brown bottle convenient beneath her 
pillow, but she wears no visible signs of her toping 
and is to-day a most respectable ancient lady. I 
don’t think I’d like this Doctor Sidney’s heritage.” 

The judge grunted his skepticism. “You’d bet¬ 
ter hurry if you want to get through.” He had 
found that Turner when wound up was an enjoyable 
swift-tongued spinner of yarns. 

“Despite the carousing of the Rumfords,” con¬ 
tinued the gossipy narrator, “the group early de¬ 
veloped some new ideas and enjoyed an astounding 
practice. Sidney and Jock participated in a double 
wedding, marrying two sisters, one this Luella Beryl 
here and the other her sister—er—Tansie. And 
to come down to the present, what brought this 
Doctor Sidney here from that parental Boston office 
was the advent of the two youngest brothers fresh 
from college. The ninth son was a tall, grasping, 


IO WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

recluse sort of fellow able to make his way any¬ 
where. The eighth was weaker fibred, handsomer, 
and something of a sentimentalist. He is said to 
resemble the doctor here. 

“Well, it seems that the old boy considered his 
business to be insufficient for the intaking of these 
two sons in spite of its large proportions, and con¬ 
sequently he set them up for themselves. Perhaps 
he quickly discovered the good points of the tall 
efficient Bud, so antithetical to the demoralization 
existent amongst his older office force. It is said 
the hypocritical old codger was fairly in tears be¬ 
cause of the way his office reeked with liquor. In¬ 
deed, although his own thirst had continued beyond 
cloying, he ventured to lock into a room the equally 
unsurfeitable Karl with a demijohn each of wine, 
whiskey, and gin, hoping that having too much of 
the stuff would cure the offender; but it is related 
that the thirsty Karl consumed quite every drop, 
leaped in a wild delirium from the second-story 
window, and clad only in his nightshirt and com¬ 
pletely unharmed tore in a mad ecstasy through the 
streets, his throat and gullet roaring-flamed, his 
very soul on fire!” Turner laughed softly as he 
reiterated, “As I said, accomplishment of the im¬ 
possible is the ambition of the Rumfords!” 

The jurist grunted his disapproval. 

“The climax occurred,” pursued the professor, 
“when the old doctor, in visiting his sentimental 
second-youngest, entered the room just in time to 
stay the youth’s razored hand from executing a self- 


JUDGE HARMON 


ii 


destruction a-la-throat. Whereupon with parental 
compassion the father decided to make room for 
his weak-willed offspring. He chose Sidney for the 
sacrifice, as being the strongest and consequently 
the one best able to bear it. Sid was ejected, but 
he has borne his cross in silence. He practiced in 
a further corner of Boston awhile, then came here 
a short time ago. What makes his sorrow most 
keen, it is said, is that those younger sons have not 
only refused him gratitude for paving their way 
for them, but have discredited it entirely, and have 
even dared to hurl at him the ignominy merited only 
by the bibulous older brothers, Karl and Jock. 

“To conclude—it seems the efficient Bud was also 
taken into the primal establishment, and you remem¬ 
ber the old story of the camel that besought the 
Arab to permit it to put its nose inside the tent, 
then successively its head, forefeet and hindquarters, 
then whimpered that there was only enough room 
for itself; well, that was evidently the lanky Bud’s 
sentiment. For his ingress brought about a veri¬ 
table upheaval. The drunken sots were relegated 
swiftly to the sidewalk, to start out for themselves 
or to get their booze wherever they could. The 
oldest brother, Dan, was not a bad sort though weak 
in mentality, but even he had to seek a new office, 
leaving the young usurpers in full command of what 
had been the elders’ domain. That’s the history 
of our new townsman, Judge; and my thesis on his 
burden of hereditary evil.” 

“You’ve a great memory, Turner!” 


12 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


“Practice, Judge; association of ideas.” 

With a raspy “Sh-h!” the justice motioned for 
silence and pointed to that luminous glass door. 
Forms were visible beyond. The knob chinked, the 
door opened, and, preceded by an elderly lady, Doc¬ 
tor Rumford came forth. The lady was pale from 
the exhausting combat with pain her weakly sub¬ 
stance had just undergone, but she was seeking to 
smile cheerily and was audibly gushing with artful 
praise of this physician in whom she had such faith. 
Stumbling in pathetic ancient gayety to the door, 
she mumbled blithely in adieu: 

“Good day, doctor. Oh, I do feel so much bet¬ 
ter!” 

Doctor Rumford, his head poised with weariness, 
nodded in kindly if somewhat curt professional ac¬ 
knowledgment, a habit of his routine. Hearken¬ 
ing to the sound of the door closing behind her, 
he turned to his succeeding patients, one of whom 
was new to him, the law expounder. 

“On time I see,” said he in suave geniality to Pro¬ 
fessor Turner, then shifted his gaze in pleasant in¬ 
quiry to the jurist. 

“Judge Harmon, Doctor,” spoke up the gay pro¬ 
fessor. “Your fame is still spreading. He feels 
that you can do something for him.” 

“Always willing to try.” The fatigued practi¬ 
tioner laughed as he tremulously shook hands. 
Sparks of eagerness flashed into and fired his eyes. 
Those judicial fingers held the key to his earthly 
paradise, to that Elysium of social brilliance to 


JUDGE HARMON 


13 


which he aspired. Nevertheless, his saturation with 
fatigue remained paramountly evident. 

“Glad to meet you, Doc!” the judge exploded 
brusquely. “I have been trying to get my musical 
friend here away from that Pleiad. Both of you 
had best be wary of those sirens!” 

“Oh, I doubt that any normal man would permit 
himself to indulge in that foolishness,” deprecated 
the physician. 

“Just get a little John Barleycorn into you and 
you’ll fall for ’em!” Harmon rasped jocularly. 

“Judge, I don’t need any of your friend John,” 
laughed the musician. 

“Oh, you’re a faker! a dishrag, Turner! I just 
tolerate you!” 

The victim smiled but discreetly held his tongue. 

Doctor Rumford’s minute-saving regularity of his 
routine prevailing upon him, he spoke to Turner, 
“If you don’t mind, I’ll take your case first.” 

Whereupon the professor, setting down his hat, 
jollied his pompous friend, “You won’t care, Judge 
—it’s seldom I get anything on you!” 

“Oh, not at all; not at all!” spoke the other gruf¬ 
fly, fidgeting in his chair. During the subsequent 
few minutes, while the doctor and his patient were 
closeted in that inner sanctum, the jurist sat con¬ 
templating again the extraordinary magnificence 
of the room. This darkly somber chamber with 
its array of antique chests, qarved blackwood fur¬ 
nishings, beauteous serpentine art lamps, and its 
lavish adornment of paintings that bore plainly the 


H 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


stamp of masterpieces, indicated to him a taste 
rather awesome in its completeness of detail. 
There was not one incongruous or marring article. 
The viewer’s speculations, however, were shortly 
dispelled by the reappearance of the musician, whose 
wry face told eloquently of the unspeakable tor¬ 
ments he had endured, what with the entry of fine 
probes into his nasal passages and Eustachian tube, 
and the sharp-hooked tampering with his ear drums 
in an effort to stimulate that auditory sensitiveness 
requisite to his profession. 

“And now you, Judge,” said the physician cor¬ 
dially. 

“All right, Doc. But if you torture me, remem¬ 
ber I’ve an Inquisition Chamber of my own where 
they all come sooner or later 1 ” As he propheti¬ 
cally proclaimed this, the justice dispenser walked 
pompously to the small room and seated himself 
in the examination chair. 

The practitioner’s contemplation of the judge’s 
throat, through the tiny aperture of the circular re¬ 
flecting mirror over the examiner’s right eye, 
brought a serious frown to the doctor’s forehead. 
Irritation, patently of whiskey taken straight, was 
working havoc in an atrophic form of chronic phar¬ 
yngitis; the mucous membrane was thin, dry and 
glazed, having an insufficiency of proper moisture. 
Followed an insupportable period of douching with 
suffocating compression-tank contraptions, combined 
with daubings of icy and fiery probes, a procedure 
that kept the patient in paroxysms of gagging and 


JUDGE HARMON 15 

hawking, but presently this initial treatment was at 
an end. 

“It may take time,” the physician diagnosed 
briefly. It was plain to him that his patient was 
acutely sensitive, and because of the ulterior motives 
the doctor himself possessed, particularly the de¬ 
sire to bask in that society over which the judge 
held sway, he forebore to broach the full reform 
needed. 

Whilst passing out into the reception room, Judge 
Harmon complained, “It seems strange, Doc, but 
it’s the swallowing of liquids that gives me the 
greatest discomfort!” 

“Oh, that’ll be all right, if they’re not too fiery.” 
The doctor laughed genially, patting his august pa¬ 
tient reassuringly on the shoulder. 

“I agree with you, Turner, old boy, that our new 
townsman is a marvel! Wait till I get him in court 
—he tried to asphyxiate me ! But, all joshing aside, 
how much do I owe you, Doctor?” 

“My charge varies with the treatment, of course. 
For your case I shall have to get some special drugs 
that are rather costly. W 7 ell, we’ll say about ten 
dollars a treatment.” 

“Whew! you didn’t tell me that, Turner; but I 
guess you’ve nothing the matter with you. It takes 
a man to be sick! I can see now, Rumford, how 
you got all these unholy furnishings! But I’m not 
going to kick, so long as you do me good.” 

“Isn’t that good enough?” interposed the mirth¬ 
ful Turner, adding, “And be sure you mind his ad- 


16 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


monition about the firewater, you who denounce the 
drunkards! I’m afraid you’re a bit of a hypocrite, 
Judge.” 

“I’ll give you life yet, Turner! Oh, you two can 
smile and tease. But, no joking, I take very little, 
only enough to stimulate myself. I’ve enormous 
batches of work to dig through and I simply take a 
bracing dram. It clears my head, gives me 
strength, restores me. I couldn’t get on without it. 
Rightly taken, gentlemen, liquor’s a great thing, a 
veritable panacea, an inexhaustible dynamo of en¬ 
ergy! Oh, I’ve no sympathy for the man who can’t 
keep his head. One doesn’t need to make an ass 
of himself!” 

“I’m afraid you overestimate its qualities,” dis¬ 
sented the physician. “I’ve studied alcohol only in 
its bearing upon my particular work, but even a lay¬ 
man sees its manifold evil effects. In venturing 
moderation a man has first to consider his inherited 
tendency to alcoholism, to overmastering inebriety.” 

“Oh, that’s damned rot!—you’ll excuse me, Doc¬ 
tor. I’m an offspring of whole generations of to¬ 
pers and like yourself Tve never been drunk in my 
life!” 

Turner interrupted smilingly with, “I’ve never 
met a man that would admit he was spiffy—unless 
he was clinging to the grass to save himself from 
falling off this whirling sphere! It’s your powerful 
physique keeps you from going under.” 

“Oh, confound you, Turner; you’re another tee¬ 
totaler! But you musicians are dreamers. Not 


JUDGE HARMON 


17 


working, you don’t need any of the invigorator.” 

“1 ou’re right, Judge, I don’t need any of your 
alcohol. I’ve never tasted it since boydom; my 
nerves don’t crave it; I’m simply a blank toward it.” 

“I guess I have pickled myself at times,” the 
justice smilingly confessed, “especially when I’ve 
been wearied from overwork and needed a complete 
rest. Then I drink enough to throw myself into 
what the doctor would call narcosis; but I never lose 
my self-control from my first drink to the instant 
I get to sleep. When your brain’s in a whirl and 
you can’t sleep, alcohol’s the thing that’ll darken 
your soul.” 

“That may be true of your particular tempera¬ 
ment,” spoke the physician in grave humor. “In¬ 
dividual make-ups differ, however; and it is quite 
apparent that drink more commonly stirs up de¬ 
pravity. It is very evident to me that it instigates 
crime and lewdness, that it degenerates the bodily 
tissues and vitals into hideous organic abnormalities 
entailing premature death, and that it produces a 
dementia that not only makes the inebriate obnox¬ 
ious to others but oft instills in him a melancholia 
that ends in his suicide. Futhermore, alcoholism 
in the parents blights the offspring—” 

“That last is another rank absurdity, Doc!” 
rasped the judge, interrupting in exasperation. 
“I’ve three little daughters that are perfect angels, 
never had a physician’s care since their birth hour!” 

Turner smiled at this, but contented himself with 
scrutiny of the stray Pleiad. 


18 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


“Well, it’s quite beyond controversy,” the physi¬ 
cian asserted dryly, “that alcohol has a deleterious 
effect upon our protoplasm—upon even the throat 
tissues.” He smiled. 

Harmon groped blindly, vainly, for some retort. 

“It is positively irrefutable that this particular 
chemical is the main etiological factor of many dis¬ 
eases,” pursued Doctor Rumford quietly, “the 
troubles ranging from neural wastages to fatty de¬ 
generations. The common alcoholic dementia of 
the inveterate drunkard is too frequently seen to be 
disputed. And despite your apparent disbelief, any 
general practitioner will agree that he meets with 
countless children suffering from epilepsy or from 
idiocy consequent to parental tippling. Women are 
made sterile by it. They have their milk glands 
desiccated. Where the children are actually born, 
there is an excessive infantile mortality. Or the 
little ones are attacked early by hip-joint disease, by 
spinal wastages, by consumption of the bowels or 
lungs, or by other ailments. Alcohol is a scourge 
co our modern civilization,” concluded the doctor 
warmly. “It fills the hospitals, the workhouses, the 
brothels, the asylums, and the graveyards. It al¬ 
ters practically every cell of the drunkard’s body, 
dulling his senses, robbing him of his capacity to 
work, degrading and depraving him, and finally slay¬ 
ing him. 

“If you could but see just one of its monstrous 
products, the swollen, fat-bulging hearts or kidneys, 


JUDGE HARMON 


19 


the leathery, hobnailed livers, the distended, bloody, 
sore-studded stomachs. . . 

The judge’s face bore an expression of pain; and, 
unable to stand more of it, he blurted out, “That’s 
all granted, Doc. That stuff’s the sot’s penalty. 
But I’m advocating simply moderation! Just mod¬ 
eration!” With his handkerchief he wiped his 
sweaty, feverish brow. 

“That’s the very point,” the doctor insisted 
gently. “Science has shown conclusively that alco¬ 
hol has a cumulative action; its total effect is the sum 
of the effects of the respective small drams, and no 
matter how small those drams may be.” 

“I can’t dispute you, Doc. But that last doesn’t 
seem possible. I don’t feel any such effects.” 

“Precisely; the resultant diseases and abnormali¬ 
ties grow stealthily, and make themselves known, 
like cancer, when it is too late. And cancer, by the 
way, is oft caused by alcohol’s repeated irritation.” 

“But, Doctor, you can’t deny the service a dram 
does a man, the recuperation it gives, and the will 
to do things—the warm, comfortable feeling in 
one’s skin. . . 

The attentive Turner smilingly interceded, “I 
think you are swayed more by your Epicureanism 
than your ambition, Brother Justice!” 

Judge Harmon turned his eyes to those handsome 
wall-adornments—nonplused, beaten. He suddenly 
flashed toward his antagonists again, however, and 
exclaimed, “We’re only temporary inhabitants of 


20 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


these carcasses, Rumford. If one thing doesn’t get 
us, another will. None of us is a perfect machine. 
And what’s more,” he rasped with an insinuating 
personal element in his tone, “I think you know of 
a man who started out in his youth to drink himself 
to death and yet is still alive, and, I take it, ap¬ 
proaching the century mark! We can believe bet¬ 
ter what we see in our own homes than in what any 
teetotaling theorist manufactures for us!” 

The physician stared at him sharply a moment, 
angered by this unmistakable reference to the Van¬ 
dyke bearded Rumford pater. 

The judge snapped his fingers and sneered, 
“That, for your ‘accumulative action’ and ‘insidious 
degeneration’ I” 

Turner flushed guiltily, and offered quickly in 
nervous intercession: 

“What a magnificent collection of books you have 
here, Doctor!” He referred to the inset wall cases, 
glass-paneled and of carved, dusky hardwood and 
replete with multicolored volumes. “You must be 
an omnivorous reader, eh, Doc?” 

“Quite,” spoke the physician, his mind lost in a 
dark reflection. The judge’s outburst was a disap¬ 
pointment to him. Cultured intercourse with this 
apparent supersociety was the fabric of this practi¬ 
tioner’s ambition, and he felt it crumbling. Its 
stimulus was disintegrating. Consciousness of his 
fatigue became more overpowering. His soul was 
steeped in a black cloud of melancholic misery, until 


JUDGE HARMON 


21 


these voices near him seemed to emanate from a 
distance, from undefined spectral things. 

“Eh, what have we here?” spluttered Judge Har¬ 
mon, picking from his pocket a slim booklet. 
“Why, upon my soul, it’s our friend Omar Khay¬ 
yam!” He lightly fingered the gilded pages, 
stopped at one and read, “Let us eat, for to-morrow 
we die!” and he laughed tauntingly. He was 
plainly in what might be termed an alcoholic mood, 
his irritability the reflex action of the stimulant. 

“Another of your debauchees, Harmon,” voiced 
Turner. 

“Not so, my musical friend; in those statements 
in which you take him to be at his worst the Persian 
was a mystic, but he possessed a practical and whole¬ 
some knowledge of drink and a sensible attitude 
toward it.” 

“I’ve ventured to adhere to the extreme mysticism 
theory,” spoke Doctor Rumford. 

The judge again laughed in sarcasm, then read 
forcibly aloud: 

t 

“ ‘Why, be this juice the growth of God, who dare 
Blaspheme the twisted tendril as a snare? 

A blessing, we should use it, should we not? 

And if a curse—why, then, Who set it there?’ 

\ 

“I think that rather caps the matter, gentlemen,” 
he concluded. He turned his eyes merrily on Doc¬ 
tor Rumford, but became immediately compassion- 


22 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


ate through noting the pallor of weariness in the 
physician’s visage. “Why, you’re tired, man! 
Don’t you take anything at all to bolster you up; 
you fellows generally do, dope or something. A 
man of your prodigious effort must take something 
to boost him.” He grasped the doctor’s shoulders 
and beamed enthusiastically as he exclaimed, 
“You’ve a great work to do; we’ve all heard of the 
tremendous strides you’re making. Don’t let the 
damaging of this earthly shell stop you; your walls 
will crumble, anyway. Your flesh is only to serve 
you here and you must get the most out of it, and 
that means working at high pitch. Come, Doc, 
give up those nonsensical ideas. You can’t permit 
sentimental whims and prejudices to interfere with 
you.” 

His genial words lent a kind of music to the doc¬ 
tor’s soul. Ambition was the very life force of the 
physician. Anything fostering it he was glad to 
seize upon. He subconsciously decided to think 
upon this matter; he needed something to recuperate 
him. And the lavish praise reawakened his opti¬ 
mism; eulogy ever bathed his nerves with a kind of 
restfulness. He had received little enough com¬ 
mendation during these days of eternal grind and 
self-sacrifice, none from his apparently unappreci¬ 
ative wife. He straightened, his features brighten¬ 
ing in a smile that resembled a rocket’s flare illumi¬ 
nating nocturnal darkness. 

The judge joyfully contemplated the glowing eyes 
and vibrant personality of this handsome man be- 


JUDGE HARMON 


23 


fore him and blurted out, “God, Doc, I’m glad 
you’ve come among us! Why, man alive, you have 
a fire in you that would make you a success at any- 
think you undertake! Energy just sparkles out all 
over you! You’re a superman, a topnotcher!” 

“I guess we fellows have need of a deal of energy, 
more so than folks think,” affirmed the practitioner. 
His voice continued heavy from that inextinguish¬ 
able weariness. 

Judge Harmon pondered silently a moment as to 
what was the real source of this physician’s revivi¬ 
fication, for means of recuperation he surely must 
have, else how did he get on? The jurist’s gaze 
chanced on the darkly glossy pianoforte in the cozy, 
shadowy alcove. “Does your wife play for you at 
night?” he asked. 

“She isn’t a musician,” replied the doctor slowly, 
a tinge of regret manifest in his tones. 

“Here, Turner; here’s work for you! Couldn’t 
he take her in hand?” 

“I’m afraid not; she acquired the rudiments long 
ago, but I guess it isn’t in her; she doesn’t care par¬ 
ticularly for the piano.” He was tempted to add, 
“nor for any other music except perhaps a baby’s 
squalling!” But in these prelusory days he was too 
chivalrous to speak ill of his wife. Unconsciously 
he sighed. 

“It’s too bad,” commented Harmon. “I don’t 
think there is anything finer or more soothing to a 
man’s nerves than to lounge in the pillows of a big 
divan and listen to the woman he loves play a fugue 


24 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


or a sonata for him. If I do say it, my wife’s an 
uncommonly clever musician!” 

What further man-talk they might have indulged 
in was prevented by the entry of a plainly-garbed, 
sour-visaged woman accompanied by her little 
daughter. 

“Well, come along, Turner,” the judge beamed. 
“We shan’t take up any more of your time to-day, 
Doctor—how do you do, Mrs. Brown; my! how big 
the girl has grown—day after to-morrow at the 
same hour? All right. Good day, sir—and 
madam.” 

With this mixture of greetings and adieus, and 
accompanied by his friend, departed a tempter such 
as comes into the lives of all of us, and against 
whose evil counsel we must use our intelligence and 
pit most strongly our wills. There is no need to 
conjure up and incarnate a personal devil to have 
him stalking about whispering evil into human ears. 
Man himself is the seducer of man. In many re¬ 
spects men and women are one another’s mortal 
enemies. The jurist inadvertently left his Omar 
Khayyam on the table. 


CHAPTER II 


SIPPING THE DEVIL’S BLOOD 

D OCTOR RUMFORD set the little girl into 
the chair of torture, and assumed his cura¬ 
tive duties with a quiet methodicalness. 
He was pensive, and endured consciously the drag¬ 
ging sensations of his oppressive fatigue. Even the 
triumph in having obtained at last the patronage of 
Judge Harmon was unable to stir his blood. His 
evening rush hour arrived and presently persons 
who were daily employed began to crowd his recep¬ 
tion room. 

The Doctor’s daily program was an unceasing 
grind. He seldom left these rooms, though some¬ 
times he was specially called by his colleagues to 
hospitals to take cases in which his methods of sur¬ 
gery and treatment were superior. He often per¬ 
formed the most serious operations in this private 
sanctum. His evening hours, until midnight and 
sometimes beyond, he devoted to study and to labo¬ 
ratory research, seeking with tomes, microscope and 
dissected tissue, crucible and retort, the compounds 
of liquids and chemicals with which to free sufferers 
from the use of the knife in curing their ailments. 

He denied himself to none, and he worked me- 

25 


26 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


thodically upon this evening’s influx of patients, en¬ 
deavoring to assuage their ills and even to jolly 
them out of their doldrums, although he himself 
was interminably fatigued. He worked until his 
eyes and temples ached, until he seemed but an en¬ 
tity of pain. It was dark when the last of his pa¬ 
tients had gone and the day’s work was done. This 
was his customary routine, merely a day of many 
days. At the elegantly set evening meal, however, 
he grew spirited a moment. 

“You couldn’t guess whom I had in to-day, dear 
—no other than Judge Harmon! And you know 
what that means to me—what he means to us!” 

Luella turned her eyes away from him in a pe¬ 
culiar evasion—doubting, distrustful. “Now, El¬ 
sie,” admonished she, “how often have I told you 
to hold your fork with your pointed forefinger, and 
not in your clenched fist!” 

The doctor suffered her to correct the child while 
he busied himself with his porterhouse. Neverthe¬ 
less, he could not stay his orbs from feasting upon 
his wife. Despite her eccentricities of tempera¬ 
ment, she was to him a thing of beauty indeed. 
When she reverted to her delicacies—she had a 
hypochondriac’s particularity about her viands—her 
soft blue eyes seemed so mild of glance, her not 
overlarge nose so pretty in its classic straightness, 
her whole aspect and features so womanly that she 
enthralled him. Like himself she was maturely 
molded, neither fat nor thin. Her fluffy hair, set 
in a moderately tight coiffure, was chestnut although 


SIPPING THE DEVIL’S BLOOD 


27 


in her early girlhood it had been a summery gold, 
as in boyhood had been his own. She wore a saf¬ 
fron silk, loose-fitting house-robe, as fresh as if it 
had just come from the merchant’s. Her husband 
deemed these house-robes her craze, exceeded, he 
felt, only by her love for her children, five of whom 
were sitting here at the table, two other tiny tots 
lying in their walnut cribs above stairs. 

Luella was plainly a little too fond of this in¬ 
formal home raiment to suit her husband’s exalted 
taste; her chosen colors, moreover, were often flat 
and unbecoming to her. Possibly she affected this 
respectable dullness as a prudish reminder to him 
that she was his wife, a serious occupation in life, 
whereas this gray responsibility was something 
which he wished to forget. It did not reflect the 
glamour of his courtship. It was nothing that he 
had sought, and consequently could not be helpful 
in holding him to her. He had long since, however, 
ceased to confound the garment with the person, 
and in the exaltation of this moment he saw only 
her spirit in its intrinsic beauty. 

Each child was a flower of youth well gracing 
this resplendent dining room. Some of them were 
not quite a full year apart in their ages; however, 
they showed no ill effects, eating with lusty appetites 
and a soft murmur of monosyllables. And even as 
had the flowers in the cut-glass vase centering the 
table been enriched into a deeper loveliness by the 
cultivation of the floral gardener, so had the beauty 
of these children been enhanced and glorified by the 


28 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


strict hygiene of their mother, whose own person 
was most desirably immaculate from the same per¬ 
sistent lavation. 

His contemplation of these, his God-given pos¬ 
sessions, in this delightful chamber and his mounting 
consciousness of his ever augmenting successes sent 
through his fibres a thrill which made him clasp his 
knife and fork in sheer exultancy. His wife was 
given to talking but little, which afforded him more 
time for his own thoughts. Yet her silences often 
wore on him. In this moment there was something 
in her indirect glance which rapidly put a damper 
upon his spirits. 

Luella was pursuing her own trend of thought. 
She was cogitating of the many times his mother had 
told her of a certain love-affair that had occurred in 
his bachelorship. The buxom, loquacious old lady 
had only too oft assured her that she was not the 
woman of her dear son Sidney’s heart nor the one 
intended for him; that he had married her in the 
spirit of a boy’s reckless lark to join in the frolic of 
that double wedding, Jock and Tansie’s being the 
only real love-affair. 

In consequence of this instillment, when the doc¬ 
tor presently pursued his subject again Luella be¬ 
cause of her perverted point of view took little in¬ 
terest. She listened listlessly to his gustful chatter 
about the tremendous things in store for them, 
greeted his most exalted forecasts with admonitions 
of her infants, or remained passively quiet. She 


SIPPING THE DEVIL’S BLOOD 


29 


thus took his effusion at its true value, for she dis¬ 
cerned its real purpose—to secure the women it 
would get him! Every one had assured her that 
no doctor was true to his wife. For what other 
reason had he furnished that office-parlor so elab¬ 
orately? Surely not for her, knowing that she 
didn’t care for such things—motherhood was the 
dominant element of her mind. The development 
of the esthetic faculty was plainly beyond her com¬ 
prehension; she could not understand that mental 
proclivity at all. Fused with the gold of her mind 
was obviously the green alloy called jealousy. 

When her husband, his eyes ashine with love for 
her, paused with a morsel half way to his lips and 
exclaimed ecstatically, “I can see you, dear, at their 
balls—the belle, the most beautiful of them all, 
creating a furore among them!” she breathed 
quietly: 

“Now, Bartie, let Zaida’s silver alone, or I shall 
punish you, you mischievous little boy!” 

“Think of it, my Louie,” the doctor sparkled, 
“we shall at last be one of them; they will come 
here! We shall have to enlarge the parlor for af¬ 
fairs—or better, we can have an extension built on 
this side, a fine big ballroom of our own. . . .” 

“Franz,” Luella reproved her second boy, “stop 
sitting there dreaming; eat your supper—and don’t 
pout!—or Fll slap you!” 

Doctor Rumford essayed again and again to in¬ 
terest his wife in his life’s ambition; but she con- 




30 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


tinued her evasions thus, her remarks half intended 
for her husband; or she remained quiescent, toying 
with her food, until he waxed wroth. 

More sleepy than hungry, the children presently 
stole quietly from the table and toddled up the 
heavily carpeted stairs to have the maid prepare 
them for the night. 

A moment more, then the doctor arose and in 
that faint dome-radiance stood ominously contem¬ 
plating his mate. Luella, finished with her meal 
but not daring to leave the table, sat writing with 
her fork imaginary things upon the tablecloth, a 
habit of hers. The physician grew exasperated. 
His temples throbbed painfully. What was the 
matter with her? A recollection of their brief 
courtship and how lovely she had been then flitted 
into his mind; he wondered why she could not be 
that way now. Ah, in that brief youthful love¬ 
seeking, when she had leaned her head upon his 
shoulder, the touch of his brow against her cheek 
had drawn out all those painful forces from his 
overworked brain, had eased and soothed the ce¬ 
lestial fires of his soul, an exquisite comfort which 
was received now only by the children. Her sim¬ 
plest words had then been a lullaby, a strain sooth¬ 
ing and sentimentally divine. He could not com¬ 
prehend why everything should be so different now; 
they were the same persons. 

Why, he wondered, must he bear this brain tor¬ 
ture with all this blankness about him? He wanted 
her; his tired brain wanted that honeyed assuage- 


SIPPING THE DEVIL’S BLOOD 


3i 


ment of its turmoil; he was fairly maddened in his 
contemplation of her as she sat there in the soft 
radiance, writing in that empty fashion. She sat 
somewhat squattily, that tormenting little sneer 
perking her nose, her very being repellent of him. 
And that loose wrapper—why wouldn’t she wear a 
proper costume, skirt and waist or a dress with some 
style to it, that would permit her to be presented at 
any hour to these upper folk amongst whom he was 
earning his way. She continued writing indolently. 
Further forbearance by him was intolerable; his 
anger broke forth. 

“Why are you so dead!” he snapped, his eyes 
glaring upon her. 

His sharpness startled her. A little quiver 
coursed her as she reluctantly aroused herself and 
upraised her face, smiling through her sneer—for 
his Judas kiss. 

He saw that she was hopeless for his purposes; 
all simply because he did not understand her. He 
leaned and kissed her mechanically, then turned 
toward his office, his soul blinded by the mist of a 
fiery rage. 

Her eyes followed him with a smile of scorn, yet 
her look betrayed a trifle of doubt as to her own 
conduct. When the door of that forbidding cham¬ 
ber closed behind him, however, she dismissed the 
matter with a flirt of her head and a fleeting accentu¬ 
ation of that wise, disdainful sneer. Arising, she 
entered that forward hall and serenely climbed the 
stairway, to her babies ! Motherhood was the dom- 


32 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


inating passion in her life; in a few minutes she was 
in high glee with her infants, tweeking their toes, 
jollying and teasing them into bursts of laughter. 
In her subconscious meditation she could not under¬ 
stand why any grown man should want to be “ba¬ 
bied” as if men and women never quite grew out 
of their infancy, though she herself would have had 
to confess that she liked to be fondled. The oner¬ 
ous duties of motherhood were usurping her ener¬ 
gies completely. Whilst crooning and bestirring 
herself with her infants lying in their cribs and 
diminutive beds, she read their countenances with a 
discernment of their state of health, a clairvoyance 
that was little short of the miraculous. Mother¬ 
hood is the divine endowment. 

Whilst his Luella was thus occupied, Doctor Rum- 
ford was desolately closeted in his dusky sanctum, 
busied in sterilizing his instruments and replacing 
them in their proper cases and trays. He had no 
young lady assistant. Luella would not permit it. 
Not that he obeyed her word of mouth, but her 
patently jealous ill-humors were sufficient coercion 
to him. His anger, combined with his overmaster¬ 
ing fatigue, had cast him into an evil mood. His 
eyes lighted upon his emergency bottle of brandy. 
The suggestion of the brown liquor seemed to force 
the fog of fatigue more deeply into his fibres. He 
was vaguely aware that he must do something to 
overcome this exhaustion else he would incur col¬ 
lapse, whereupon all would be lost to him. He kept 
meditating upon the matter. And as he thought 


SIPPING THE DEVIL’S BLOOD 


33 


of the tremendous amount of work ahead of him, 
of the extreme exertion necessary to achieve his 
goal, hot tears came into his eyes. He felt a melan¬ 
cholia, a sinking sensation. His inner self told him 
he did not have the requisite energy. He kept re¬ 
coursing in his mind the details of his life, seeking 
the exit from his cavern of despair. 

Flashed anew to him Judge Harmon’s assertion, 
“I have enormous batches of work to dig through 
and I simply take a bracing dram. It clears my 
mind, gives me strength, restores me; I couldn’t get 
on without it. Rightly taken, liquor’s a great thing 
. . . an inexhaustible dynamo of energy!” Also, 
“One doesn’t need to make an ass of himself!” 

These words clung to the doctor’s mind like drops 
of water in cobwebs; he pondered them whilst he set 
his office in order. No, he decided, he couldn’t in¬ 
dulge in that demoralization even for so great an 
end. In that peculiar twist of the human mind, 
however, he subconsciously sensed that this was to 
be the ultimate, the inevitable. For, as often oc¬ 
curs in musing upon secret vices and passions, medi¬ 
tation upon the effects of liquor began to arouse in 
him a debasing curiosity, a curiosity that amounted 
to desire. He shook off the feeling. Nay, he had 
a divine task to accomplish. God would stay by 
him and give him strength. 

With everything placed shipshape, he reached up 
to extinguish a certain light—and staggered back 
with blackly reeling brain—but caught himself by 
gripping a chair. For a moment his senses endured 


34 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


a cataclysm, a revulsion, a renunciation of the 
Powers that had abandoned him; a sense of the un¬ 
worthiness of it all. His dream of usefulness was 
a mirage; the needs and organizations of the people 
were shams; the people themselves soulless 1 He 
could see plainly now that Judge Harmon with his 
insolent manners and hypocrisy was typical of them, 
their social representative and potentate! And 
Luella was typical of their women! Life was as 
fraudulent as the glamour of love’s courtship. 
Why pursue so flimsy an ambition! 

Presently the doctor regained control of himself; 
he took up his pad of memoranda, proceeded to 
his bookcase and drew forth several heavy, leather- 
bound volumes and set them on the blackwood 
center-table. He had some reading to do on cer¬ 
tain cases. This was his ordinary reading, after 
which he would delve into the tomes of chemistry, 
somatology, and therapeutics and search for new 
wisdom, new thoughts that would enable him to syn¬ 
thesize compounds and distil liquids that would cure 
the afflicted without use of the knife. This was his 
program, and he was positive of success, of the at¬ 
tainment of all his dreams. He was still an opti¬ 
mist, a believer in the good of this world. If only he 
did not collapse. He was like a spent swimmer 
who sees the shore far away from him. He cast 
himself into his large, heavily-upholstered chair, 
regulated his reading-light, picked up one of the 
cumbrous books, settled back at a proper angle to 


SIPPING THE DEVIL’S BLOOD 


35 


the light and sought to steep his soul in the knowl¬ 
edge conveyed by the printed words. 

But the words simply succeeded one another in 
a blurred blankness. He was unable to glean the 
connection between them and grasp their deeper im¬ 
port. It was all meaningless. To read them was 
impossible! His eyes ached; he wanted to close 
them, to lay his head back on something other than 
this leather-cushioned chair back, perhaps on a pil¬ 
low, or was there some faint notion connected with 
a woman’s bosom! Again he sought to shake off 
these cobwebs of illusion and stared inertly ahead 
of him, vividly conscious once more of his need of 
some means of resuscitation. 

“You’re overworked, man,” he breathed. 
“You’re high-strung; sentiment’s getting the best of 
you!” Mechanically he studied and diagnosed his 
own indisposition, his morbid trouble. He experi¬ 
mented by changing his posture, tried to ease him¬ 
self into greater clarity and comfort, held the book 
before him again—then set the volume aside upon 
the table. He leaned his head upon his hands in de¬ 
spondency. He must do something, must get some 
sort of relief. 

Coursing his fingers through his hair he raised 
his eyes and chanced to espy Judge Harmon’s Omar 
Khayyam lying forgotten upon the table. He 
picked up the book in the hope that dalliance with it 
a moment might relieve and quiet him. Opening it 
haphazardly, he read: 



36 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


“The Grape that can with Logic absolute 
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute: 

The Sovereign Alchemist that in a trice 
Life’s leaden metal into Gold transmute: 

“The mighty Mahmud, Allah-breathing Lord, 

That all the misbelieving and black Horde 
Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul 
Scatters before him with his whirlwind Sword.” 

These words shot their powerful suggestion into 
the physician’s soul. It was the devil incarnadined 
executing his diabolical mischief. The doctor’s 
countenance became more pallid. Again he 
dropped his face into his hands, then raising once 
more his glance he tried to clear his mind to see his 
path clearly. He looked into that hazy vista of 
endless days before him, and was rather appalled at 
the threatened monotony of it, particularly should 
Luella remain thus dead and impassive. She must 
not remain that way, must bestir herself! 

As the physician sat gazing intensely before him, 
a great thrill of optimism surged within him. The 
spirit of achievement once more gripped his fibres, 
illumined his soul’s vista, converting his black cavern 
of despair into a jeweled grotto surpassing Alad¬ 
din’s. Aye, a most resplendent prospect was this 
mortal superlife he planned. Was not money al¬ 
ready pouring in to him in a golden stream? The 
judge’s patronage was the outstretched hand that 
would assist him to crest the local summit of glory. 
Yet the jurist’s set was only the minor, the prelim- 


SIPPING THE DEVIL’S BLOOD 


37 


inary one. The dreamer’s soul soared in aspiration 
of the very pinnacle of man’s society, the ultra-fash¬ 
ionable and elite of the world! Millionaires and 
supermen and talented women! In New York! 
London ! Paris ! Berlin! Petrograd! A suc¬ 
cess attainable. Compounds he had synthesized 
were working marvels in minor cases; a trifle more 
efficacy in them and then the knife would be dis¬ 
carded in curing even the most gruesome human 
blights. He would be world-famed! 

Thrills of happiness coursed him as he meditated 
in that lamplighted luxury. This success would be 
die alchemic key permitting ingress into that larger 
social whirl. During the coming travels he pur¬ 
posed, he and his Luella would be importuned to 
attend the most exclusive social gayeties, where fan- 
covered lips would indicate him and whisper awe¬ 
somely, “There is Doctor Rumford!” The great 
physician! A man worthy of reverence! He 
would commingle with this upper social stratum in 
yachting parties; in gay festivities at horse shows, at 
polo games; or in the sportive coaching frolics ter¬ 
minating in brilliant dances in palatial hotels. 
Would come stag-dinners, soirees, and all manner of 
parties amongst these elite, where wit would flow 
with the full sparkle of the soul—occasions when he 
would be importuned to speak, when he would arise 
amid the plaudits and give sway to that dramatic 
art he felt now dormant within him—and his merry 
quips would raise a storm of laughter. He would 
have the great Chauncey Depew looking to his 



38 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


laurels. As the physician’s inner sight gleamed into 
this vista the spirit of fight arose high within him. 

He had not enjoyed any of these pleasures here¬ 
tofore, had not had time to, but principally because 
he had wished to work and assure his entry amongst 
the highest. To be among those whom he deemed 
“perfect” was his passion. He knew he was happi¬ 
est and worked best when in an atmosphere of cul¬ 
tured persons. A smile like the sunset’s patches of 
gold gleaming through rifts of storm-clouds curled 
about the dreamer’s lips. Aye, life was not so bad, 
if one but willed and dreamed plentifully and 
strongly. 

He was no castle builder; thousands of men every 
year attain to these things through statesmanship 
or war’s achievements; or through literary, histri¬ 
onic or other art talent; by acquiring wealth and 
culture or in many other ways, though mainly by 
doing world work. 

This life would give him the relief his soul’s high 
tension required. He would be a man among men; 
and she, his Luella, would mingle with these people. 
In his world renown as a specialist, as a superdoctor, 
he would take only the big cases, he cogitated; he 
would keep selected assistants for all the ordinary 
labor; his fame would be their meat but he would 
tower as a superman among them. He would have 
a sort of clinic as his father had done, but with the 
difference of the mountain to the ant-hill. Aye, it 
was a magnificent prospect, this bold imperial world 


SIPPING THE DEVIL’S BLOOD 


39 


he was seeking, a mundane vista almost paralleling 
God’s regions! 

This thought upon his father’s office, however, 
swerved his mind into a new channel until he was 
made gloomy again by recollection of the abortion 
his early efforts had suffered. The picture of that 
office clung to his mind, a haunting vision of his two 
brothers now working there. He knew his were the 
brains that had built up that extraordinary practice. 
When the usurpation was consummated he could 
have located in the neighborhood and have gathered 
that patronage to himself had he so wished. But 
his inherent good qualities had led him to forbear. 
The memory of it all, however, rankled him now 
and ever. He reflected upon the struggle he had 
undergone in starting anew; for patients needed to 
acquire faith in a practitioner, although his resur¬ 
rection had been uncommonly swift. But most 
viperous of all was the way those brothers, for 
whom he had relinquished everything, had turned 
upon him. They now sneered at any suggestion of 
his having flowered their paths for them. With 
fire in his breast he vowed he would win over them 
yet, would make them take water! 

He knew he must have a strengthener, and his 
eyes grew hot with tears as he thought of the one 
that was offered him. But denial of its nefarious- 
ness seemed couched in those words of Omar, as read 
by Judge Harmon, “Why, be this juice the growth 
of God, who dare blaspheme the twisted tendril as 


40 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


a snare?” Why should he, Sidney Rumford, con¬ 
demn the gift of God? Surely it was put there for 
some holy purpose, undoubtedly to sustain man. 
And what task could be more sanctioned of God 
than this his own? An argument that was strength¬ 
ened in his convictions by recollection of the jurist’s 
words, “You’ve a great work to do. You can’t 
permit sentimental whims and prejudices to inter¬ 
fere with you.” Even as alcohol enlivened the 
jurist, it must needs revivify himself, give him the 
strength he needed. 

The physician glanced at his clock, noted that 
his reverie had been consuming time. It was grow¬ 
ing late; he must get to work. Contemplation of 
the volumes upon his table impressed him with the 
urgency of that toil. Gleaming and highlighted in 
the adjoining chamber the retorts and twisted-glass 
chemistry apparatus and the heterogeneous array of 
mortars, vials and flasks weirdly beckoned him to his 
researches, summoned him to those prodigious la¬ 
bors upon which his dream was based. He arose 
unsteadily, a sense of abysmal sorrow leadening his 
fibres. In that deep bitterness he stepped over to 
his cabinet, stooped and drew forth the brown bot¬ 
tle. 

He poured into a glass a small quantity of the 
amber fluid. The substance repelled him. He felt 
depressed; a sense of shame gripped him; he knew 
he was indulging in an immorality. But flashed into 
his angry mind those pictures of the past: the 
scene of his ejectment from the paternal office; his 


SIPPING THE DEVIL’S BLOOD 


4i 


father’s cold, unfeeling renunciation of him; his 
brothers’ traducement of him. In his spleen he 
vowed aloud, “By heaven, I’ll make them the dirt 
under my feet!” 

He still held the glass uneasily in his hand. Pic¬ 
tures of his contemplated social lionizing sprang up 
within him, including his phantasies of Luella ! Aye, 
he would master her—make her all he wanted her 
to be! Possessing beauty enough she needed but 
spirit, to have her natural fires awakened; he could 
see her there in those fancied scenes, honored and 
glorified; visualized her whirling with him in the 
dance, the belle amid those idolizers—and he was 
mad, drunk with his own imaginings. Thus re¬ 
flecting he raised his glass in a toast, his eyes gleam¬ 
ing as his voice ripped forth into the dark: 

“To vanquishment of my traducers! To my 
fame as the greatest of doctors! To my lovely 
Luella as the queen of the social whirl! Amen!” 

He swallowed the liquor, his face screwing up 
horribly. The fiery substance burnt his tongue and 
throat, so that he followed it hastily with a swal¬ 
low of distilled water. A shudder coursed him. 
But like a dog shaking water from its back he shook 
off the feeling of remorse combined with a revolt¬ 
ing tinge of lasciviousness. Almost instantly he 
sensed warmth smoldering in his stomach and ra¬ 
diating through his fibres. 

He reseated himself in his heavy easy-chair and 
took up his book to read and forget. Clung to 
him, however, that sensation of having stooped to 


42 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


immorality, a consciousness that shamed him, embit¬ 
tered him. The feeling was fast superseded, for 
little tendrils of warmth were creeping into his brain. 
In a trice a new thrill animated him. He aroused 
and waxed triply ambitious, exalted—too exalted! 
He felt a swimming happiness, felt like singing; and 
all the chamber had a merry vibrancy about it, a 
shifting to and fro! His ego was inflamed; he 
vowed he could do anything, knew that his hallowed 
dreams were easy of accomplishment. Oh, God! 
he would realize them! 

He caught himself, wondered at his emotions; 
sensed again that feeling of groveling in immorality. 
Yet his passion to win overrode his every sensation, 
and he set himself to do his reading. For a mo¬ 
ment the printing remained blurred and he could not 
grasp the import of the sentences. Formerly too 
sluggish, his mind had become now too brilliant, and 
remained equally cloudy; even as extremes of heat 
and cold are quite indistinguishable. He felt a 
craving for more of that glorious liquid. Predis¬ 
position to alcoholism was strong in his fibres. 

But his long usuage to right living won, and he 
forewent further indulgence. In a little while his 
brain quieted, granting him a sense of well-being; 
and applying himself to his book he was able to ac¬ 
quire again the knowledge conveyed. For long 
hours he read assiduously in the various tomes, and 
thereafter, far into the night, with vaporous retort, 
with pestle and mortar, and with his other expensive 
apparatus he pursued his chemistry researches, ex- 


SIPPING THE DEVIL’S BLOOD 


43 


perimenting and applying the knowledge gained 
through the day’s thought and reading. It was not 
until the night had reached the last of the dark 
hours that he became fatigued once more; and, re¬ 
relinquishing his work, he staggered wearisomely up 
the now darkened stairway to seek an hour or two 
of slumber. Silently and alone he was working out 
his destiny. 


CHAPTER III 


SOFT SHADOWS OF NIGHT 

A FTER a brief hour of dream-ridden slum¬ 
ber, in which he was still treating cases or 
seeking empirical knowledge, Doctor Rum- 
ford arose from his bed with a feeling of lassitude, 
a cramping of his brain. He had not slept thus 
soundly for many nights, so inflamed had been his 
soul by ambition. He well knew the ways of alco¬ 
hol and was tempted to take a morning “bracer,” 
but refrained. He had some early appointments, 
and after bathing and breakfasting he again took 
up the duties of his office, douching and spraying 
nostrils and pharynges, torturing ear-drums, and 
now and again incising away small tissues. 

One of his patients, an Irishman named Patrick 
O’Chazey, was suffering from a particularly seiious 
case of mastoiditis of which the physician was mak¬ 
ing a special study and upon which he had planned 
to operate during this morning, pursuing the old 
method of the knife while seeking to glean knowl¬ 
edge that would assist him in perfecting a chemical 
cure. When the hour set for this operation ap¬ 
proached, however, Doctor Rumford felt so ex¬ 
hausted, so beclouded mentally and so unsteady of 

hand, that he dared not trust himself to perform so 

44 


SOFT SHADOWS OF NIGHT 


45 


delicate a task. He had arranged with an outside 
nurse to come and assist him at his major operations, 
for Luella, as stated, had forbidden him to keep 
any such potential rival about the house in his 
steady employment. He telephoned the nurse not 
to come for this operation. 

When Patrick arrived, the doctor tinkered and 
fussed lightly about the hideously sore ear, the pa¬ 
tient wincing and gripping the chair arms stren¬ 
uously at each touch. The young man’s breath was 
rather strongly fragrant; he vouchsafed blandly, 
“I took a dhrop, Doctor, to buck up; I couldn’t 
face it otherwise!” 

“But, my dear fellow, you shouldn’t have done 
it. Alcohol retards the healing of the flesh. You 
must abstain from it entirely, or you may never get 
well.” 

“I’m sorry, sir,” the patient whimpered. “But 
I’d not have strength to face the operation with¬ 
out I took a dhram. My life’s been a bitter thing 
to me, sir, but I have me old mother to take care 
of and I don’t want to die.” Tears filled his eyes. 

“We all have our troubles,” sympathized the 
physician. He set down his instruments and pre¬ 
pared to undo the neckcloth. Whereat Patrick’s 
luminous eyes dilated and he set up a whining. 

“An’ aren’t you going to prepare to operate on 
me, sir? Sure, you said it was so important to make 
haste. Oh, I can’t keep up me courage any longer!” 
Bowing his head between his hands he sobbed softly 
a moment but then impulsively raised his face again 


46 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


as he piteously pleaded, “Oh, do yez think I’ll really 
pull through, Doctor?” 

The practitioner stared at him in indecision. He 
wanted to help the man, knew the urgency of operat¬ 
ing, knew that death indeed might be the penalty of 
delay. But he knew his hand to be altogether too 
shaky for accuracy, felt his mind too clamped by 
that dark pain of weariness. In his subconscious be¬ 
ing he felt a curse arising for Harmon’s bad advice. 
The doctor removed the neckcloth brusquely. 

“No, you will have to wait until to-morrow. And 
you must not take any more liquor until I am 
through with you. Come, brace up, man! Get a 
little courage in you; you’ll be all right.” 

The sufferer, getting his hat, turned toward the 
street door and vowed chokingly, “All right, Doc¬ 
tor, I’ll try hard; I’ll go over to the church and 
pray the saints to intercede for me—and maybe 
He’ll have mercy on me! Oh, glory be t’ God I 
don’t want to die!” He picked up his hat and de¬ 
parted sobbing. 

There were some other patients in the office, with 
attentive ears, but with their own sorrows. The 
doctor continued with his duties, his spirits sorely 
depressed. He was oppressed with a feeling of 
guiltiness, knew that he was shirking his responsibil¬ 
ity. Whilst pursuing his routine, he felt the hope¬ 
less outlook. Perhaps a whit of Patrick’s hysteria 
was in his fibres. His knees trembled. By nature 
devoutly reverent, though not a devotee of the 
formalities of religion, there now came to him mo- 


SOFT SHADOWS OF NIGHT 


47 


ments when he felt like getting down upon his knees 
and praying to the Powers—even as he knew the 
Irishman was then doing—for the strength he 
needed. 

In late afternoon, however, came a few cheery 
minutes into his misery, not unlike a shaft of Elysian 
sunshine seeking vainly to penetrate and disperse 
the Stygian storm-clouds. Several days past a 
young lady possessing hair of remarkable natural 
gold had accompanied her mother to his office. To¬ 
ward dusk the doctor observed this young woman in 
his waiting room, though unattended this time. Fie 
habitually kept that reception room somewhat be¬ 
dimmed, perhaps because he wished to avoid the eyes 
of his pain-ridden patients. So uncommonly bril¬ 
liant was the young visitor’s attire that against this 
shadowy background she seemed to him like unto a 
Catholic graven image theurgically animated. Pre¬ 
sently came her turn. 

Standing beside his white enameled chair, the 
physician waited calmly, while his patient laid aside 
her wraps. Then she came with exquisite grace to 
his chair of torture. Wonder filled him. Profes¬ 
sional words were few with him; therefore, he nod¬ 
ded to her simply in professional courtesy. 

As she returned the nod and looked into his blue- 
gray eyes a faint flush mounted her face. As she 
seated herself, the utter magnificence of her awak¬ 
ened him somewhat from his lethargy. 

“I suppose you recall me, Doctor—I am Freda— 
Mrs. Warner’s daughter.” 


48 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

“Yes, I remember you were here the other day,” 
he replied, taking up the protective apron to fasten 
it about her. 

“Mother says you are considered to be the finest 
and most successful doctor in the county,” laughed 
Freda. She archly observed the blush with which 
he accepted this encomium, and guessed rightly that 
it was because the praise came from her own lips 
that his blood was so stirred. Her college days had 
bred in her this desire to study manfolk, and she 
had come simply through a mischievous impulse to 
study this extraordinary man. There was a gayety 
in her tone that was not lost on her victim. 

“I trust Mrs. Warner is well,” commented the 
doctor. 

“Fine—and she just dotes on you!” 

“What seems to be the ailment?” 

“Why—er—an irritation bothers my throat,” she 
stammered. “The trouble isn’t much perhaps, but 
I thought I really ought to come in to permit you 
to treat me.” 

The mirth rippling from her lips thrilled him 
against his will. The exotic perfume exhaled by 
her gorgeous, partly diaphanous garments enrap¬ 
tured him, and he experienced such a sensing of her 
that in reaching to effect a better focus of his Nernst 
lamp, he endured a nervous tremor that palsied his 
hand. The quiver was not lost to those merry blue 
eyes. She refrained from speaking lest her mirth 
betray her, also because his preparations to torture 
her entailed restraint. 


SOFT SHADOWS OF NIGHT 


49 


Without further remark the physician sped 
through a cursory examination with his nasal specu¬ 
lum, then with the broad tongue-depressor inspected 
the chambers of her mouth and pharynx, but discov¬ 
ered nothing more serious than some slight inflam¬ 
mations consequent to her natural inhalation of dust 
and germs, if they could be called inflammations at 
all. He pondered an instant as to just why she had 
come to him; there was positively no evidence of any 
throat trouble, her mouth being one in thousands— 
so perfect as to startle him. He saw that her en¬ 
tire buccal, facial and cranial construction was of 
marvelous perfectness, and that her teeth were mag¬ 
nificent, true strings of pearls, gracing an arch ap¬ 
proximating the ideal beauty-arch. He observed 
that her face was a delicately refined blending of the 
oval and the square, as classified by the wizardly phy¬ 
siognomists, her flesh bearing the pinkish tint of 
health in it. She was replete with effervescing 
freshness and resplendent youth. He wondered 
if in all Christendom there was another girl so per¬ 
fectly molded. 

During his meditative attention to her respira¬ 
tory chambers, Freda occupied herself by glancing 
about this private sanctum appraisingly, even as her 
glance a few minutes before had been roving that 
duskily sumptuous reception room yonder. Her 
eyes roamed with avid interest, although with shiv¬ 
ers of horror, the cabinets of flesh and bone cut¬ 
ters, curiously curved pain-dealing lances, forceps 
and similar surgical instruments in endless array, 


5 o WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


thence the cases of medical books, the glass tubed 
and globed apparatus, and lastly the anatomical ce¬ 
phalic prints. She returned her gaze to a study of 
his countenance now so close to her, his unobtru¬ 
sive studious sight half hid by that circular mirror 
covering his right eye. He was patently too inter¬ 
ested in her respiratory organs to note the character 
of her thoughts as betrayed by her stare. She not 
only drank in the utter handsomeness of his dark- 
mustached and dark-haired person, but facilely read 
in his face the wealth of strength, determination and 
perseverance. But she believed she espied also un¬ 
mistakable signs of an inherent liability to fall and 
pursue as ruthlessly the crimson path. As she 
reached this conclusion she smiled in a peculiar self- 
consciousness, knowing her power, the witchery of 
her warm lips and lureful eyes, the full promise of 
her. 

An esthete by nature, Doctor Rumford pursuing 
his own line of meditation gazed spellbound, and 
his lips breathed audibly, “Perfect!” 

Freda’s lips, writhing rims of pinkish velvet deeper 
hued at their fuller centres, wavered deprecatingly 
about the gagging tongue-depressor, that little smile 
still active. Her big blue eyes watched her Simple 
Simon’s consternation. When he espied her ap¬ 
parent distress and removed the offending instru¬ 
ment she exclaimed smilingly, “Gracious! I think 
this chair is a relic of the Inquisition! Tell me, 
what is perfect?” 

“Why—er—,” he spoke hesitantly, and self- 


SOFT SHADOWS OF NIGHT 


5* 


consciously held the dazed sight of his mirror- 
panoplied optic to that rimmed miracle of the hu¬ 
man substance into which his vision habitually fo¬ 
cused, then remarked with a gentle smile, “Your 
lips are—unquestionably!” The soft closing of 
her mouth had inspired him with this latter judg¬ 
ment. 

Freda blushed deeply. She had not meant to 
cause him to speak with such frankness. In her 
countenance was plainly an inherent God-given vir¬ 
tuousness, but although her elegance and culture re¬ 
mained paramount, there was nevertheless that lurk¬ 
ing mischief. 

“You seem to be falling in love with me,” she 
laughed, “or are you inclined to be a sport?” 

“Not at all,” he replied staidly, as he shifted to 
his forehead the circular reflecting mirror and set 
aside the rubber apron. 

“You don’t look the part—you’re too clear-eyed 
and handsome,” she said reassuringly, setting her 
hand in butterfly touch upon his shoulder a moment. 
“But, tell me, will you agree with Mother—” Freda 
paused blushingly an instant to study how he would 
take her jest—“that a man enjoys himself better 
in the companionship of another woman than with 
his wife ?” 

The doctor paused rather long ere replying. He 
wondered what sort of sour grapes had come into 
Mrs. Warner’s perhaps checkered life to instil in 
her this pessimistic philosophy. He had long since 
deemed himself inured to this sort of intimacy, im- 


52 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


pregnable to it. Yet the proximity of this particular 
young woman affected him profoundly. He was at 
a loss. Was it simply the uncommon beauty of 
her, or was it something more deeply foreboding? 
He could see plainly that her mind, despite her pres¬ 
ent superficial gayety, was of finest quality and he 
decided she was simply seeking to jolly him. 

“I think that depends largely upon the wife and 
the—er—woman,” he finally commented soberly. 

He was perhaps unaware of the full trend of her 
artfulness. Was she by any chance instinctively 
seeking to serve the god Mammon? For a woman 
is most frequently thinking of worldly things, whilst 
the man is most often thinking of her only. The 
skinclad primordial man of the forest provided the 
food and shelter, whilst the woman bore the babes. 
Thus it began. But to-day woman aspires by di¬ 
vine right to man’s worldly goods, without giving 
motherhood, if she can so manage it. The doctor, 
like many another godly man, saw only the woman 
before him—the desirable. 

His acute ears heard the street door open, be¬ 
tokening the call of others upon his time, whereupon 
he instantly resumed his cold professional gravity 
and arose from his stool. 

“Miss Warner,” he spoke, “there is nothing 
there—merely a slight inflammation of the uvula— 
which will all clear up of itself.” 

“And sha’n’t I come again?” she pleaded, smil¬ 
ing, though her voice betrayed suggestion. 

The physician shook his head. He knew well 


SOFT SHADOWS OF NIGHT 


53 


there was no need for her to come again. A 
thought came to him, however, and his somber 
eyes twinkled as he cajoled, “You will probably find 
opportunity to come with your ma; I am not quite 
through with her yet.” 

“Oh, Mother is quite able to take care of herself, 
but perhaps she will tolerate me,” she spoke, laugh¬ 
ing lightly as she rose. 

The doctor held the door for her and followed 
her into his reception chamber, where despite the 
eyes observing him he assisted her to don her wraps. 
With a softly breathed “Good day,” she departed. 
W 7 hen she was gone his sense of fatigue returned in 
more depressing measure. 

With bitterness he repeatedly reverted to Luella’s 
inability or unwillingness to help him. His caresses 
were always received unfeelingly; there was no re¬ 
sponse. And it was quite the same in these cold 
labors upon his patients; he was always endeavor¬ 
ing to give happiness and never received any in re¬ 
turn. 

An expression of pessimism settled about his 
lips. What did he care anyway about these people 
and their suffering? Life itself was but pain. 
And these humans, these ultracreatures with souls 
divine, did not they themselves thrive upon the flesh 
of the “lower” animals, food won to them through 
the pain of the gory slaughter-house? He laughed 
bitterly as he thought of the infinite trouble he 
took with ether, cocaine and other narcotics to save 
his patients pain; and mentally he compared this 


54 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


procedure with the brutality he had witnessed in the 
abattoirs when the big steers and their bovine mates, 
obedient, friendly creatures, were beaten with heavy 
sledge-hammers upon the skull, until they sagged and 
floundered upon the blood-reeking floor, their eyes 
upturning white and rolling in their heads, their 
mouths vomiting blood, then later were strung up by 
their hind limbs and received the knifeblade into an 
artery, their flesh quivering violently at the bite of 
the sharp steel into it. All this was done for these 
humans who ate so daintily, who gagged and simula¬ 
ted expressions of pain at the slightest touch of his 
instruments. 

During his pessimistic brooding, however, there 
flashed unaccountably before him time and again a 
smiling gold-enhaloed face; in the blue eyes was that 
strange wealth of promise, that boundless proffer¬ 
ing, that something sweet and indefinable that was 
so utterly lacking to him in Luella’s cold orbs. Yet 
he deemed this fancy to be but another cheat of the 
Archfiend, a decoy to give him further hell upon this 
earth, perhaps a bait like the Marguerite of Faust 
with which to gain for his soul final immurement in 
the flaming bowels of the eternal place of woe. 

He comprehended that his thoughts were morbid 
ones, yet as he probed and douched countless noses, 
mouths and ears he discovered a certain pleasure in 
this mode of reflection. Late afternoon found him 
again bordering upon collapse. He reasoned that 
he should take a few days off but realized that such 
procedure was impossible. It would be harmful to 


SOFT SHADOWS OF NIGHT 


55 


his patients. It would require repetition and the 
enormous amount of labor necessary to climb his 
ladder of fame forbade such resting. Such a course 
meant to cut down his patronage, to become but a 
mediocre practitioner—a thing to him unthinkable! 
Ambition was the very fire of his soul, and he must 
win! To fame ! To doing this world work sanc¬ 
tioned of God! 

That night, after a supper that was like all their 
suppers, he sat again in the solitude of his office, 
upon his knees a book unreadable. His sight was 
blurred; he was absolutely washed of all energy. 
Staring tensely ahead of him, he set his mind to 
thinking desperately how to escape the clutch of 
this fiendish thing that enfolded and oppressed him 
with the weight of its wings, that gripped his brain 
with its clamping talons, and suckled his life forces 
until even his fingers were enervated, strengthless. 
His sickly fancies were multifold, the consequence of 
his overfatigue. 

To him came more of Judge Harmon’s words: 
“I drink enough to throw myself into what the 
doctor would call narcosis.” That was the point, 
to gain the refreshment of a lethargic sleep. 
“When your brain’s in a whirl and you can’t sleep, 
alcohol’s the thing that’ll darken your soul.” 

The physician remembered with particular detes¬ 
tation the sensations the alcohol—albeit whiskey— 
had given him the night previous, that sudden lick¬ 
ing up within him, evilly luring him to consume more 
—a repulsive prospect! As he sat brooding, there 


56 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


returned to him more of the jurist’s words. “But I 
never lose my self-control from the time of my 
first drink to the time I get to sleep.” Which was 
a warning of John Barleycorn’s ability to stir up 
the individual ego, to bring out and accentuate one’s 
inborn temperament, be this phlegmatic, melan¬ 
cholic, jolly or furious. 

He wondered what sort of personality was hid¬ 
den in this substance of him, that invisible spirit 
that was he, his soul. He arose heavily, walked 
to his cabinet, drew forth the brown bottle and a 
petite crystalline glass and brought them to his study 
table. As he set them down he decided that he did 
not wish to risk any of this Alchemist’s tricks, thar 
could suddenly turn the gold of him into dross, that 
might arouse him into a cachinnating idiocy—or per¬ 
haps into a bestial fury. He went, therefore, to his 
vials and as a precaution prepared an opiate, which 
he likewise placed to hand on the carven black 
center-table. 

When he was seated again in his heavy chair his 
dusky glance seemed to espy a spark of life animat¬ 
ing the upwardly staring “spectacle-eyes” of the 
great blue dragon woven in the broad woolen rug 
of China on the floor; the enshadowed thing seemed 
to be finding a fiendish merriment in his plight. Was 
it the death-germ ever lurking under human tread? 
Or was it the alcohol spirit, another minion of the 
Devil, come hither from the nether world to lure 
him as another victim into the bestial fold? 

Morbid fancies again! With head bowed he con- 


SOFT SHADOWS OF NIGHT 


57 


sidered anew the circumstances engulfing him. Was 
he doing right? He could seek the eternal rest if 
he wished. Nay, he had not yet come to the point 
of wanting that purposeless, interminable sleep of 
the grave; he wanted rest simply that he might 
work! Oddly enough, he realized that it was 
thought of his duty to Luella that was holding him 
back, and flashed into his mind Kipling’s verses: 

“Oh the years we waste and the tears we waste 
And the work of our head and hand, 

Belong to the woman who did not know 
(And now we know she never could know) 

And did not understand.” 

The doctor was fully aroused. He picked up the 
liquor-filled glass and gulped its contents. Again 
and again in a shaky frenzy he poured out and 
quaffed the ruinous drink. It burned his throat, 
lighted in his vitals volcanic fires, but he madly dis¬ 
regarded the hurt of it as he dashed off glass after 
glass—until he was aware that he had drunken suf¬ 
ficient. Then he lay back in the chair, panting, 
afire, tear-scalded—moaning in all the exhaustion of 
a man who has gone through one of the great moral 
crises of his life and has lost. 

That consciousness of degradation besetting his 
mind hurled him into an abysmal grief. Heavy 
man-sobs escaped his flaming throat. He felt a 
darkness enshrouding him, felt his soul reaching out 
to God, to some supernatural means of succor, he 


58 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


knew not what. He seemed so terribly alone, se¬ 
cluded like an anchoret as he was from the rest of 
the world. His stomach pained as with the stab of 
a bayonet; nay, of the Devil’s heated prongs. Fiery 
flashes mounted into his brain. A sharp and revolt¬ 
ing excitement effervesced in his soul. A diabolical 
laughter surged to his lips, the vanguard of an in¬ 
sensate fury!—his ego, he saw, was negative—mur¬ 
derous if fully unbridled. A revelation that further 
frenzied his soul. It was all too despicable. He 
reached out a quivering hand for his opiate, des¬ 
perately clutched and swallowed the stuff. In an in¬ 
stant he wilted into a stupor that had the profundity 
of death. 

The fiendish dragon of the floor seemed actually 
to move as it gleamed with gloating eyes upon this 
man-thing, its captive; aye, spider-like it seemed to 
be triumphantly securing him in its entwining hyp¬ 
notic spiritual web-filaments, to make his soul for¬ 
evermore the Devil’s possession. 


CHAPTER IV 


HERITAGE 

I T was well toward daybreak when Doctor Rum- 
ford recovered sufficiently from the treble ef¬ 
fects of fatigue, liquor and narcotic to awaken 
into a dim and sodden consciousness. He had 
sunken down into an ungainly posture across the 
arm of the chair, quite as if the Devil had flung him 
there. He raised himself and stood up, sought to 
orientate himself, but the furnishings around him 
had a dusky, shifting unreality. They threatened 
to topple upon him. With an unsteady gait he 
dragged himself to the stairs and ascended to his 
proper encouchment. 

Nor did he arise with his customary alacrity later 
in the morning. His features bore then an unkempt 
and splenetic look about them. His head was fairly 
splitting with a dull ache. He needed but the slight¬ 
est pretext to give vent to acerbity, was fairly aching 
for a brawl. As he stood beside his bed his com¬ 
plete substance felt enervated and unstrung. Lu- 
ella lay there in the bed inertly dormant. She had 
been up several times in the night pacifying her cry¬ 
ing infants, and was taking her final morning nap. 
As he contemplated her he laughed with a bitter 

sneer. What did she matter, after all; what did 

59 


6 o WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


she care for him, for aught except those brats! 

He knew the next step proper to alcoholic indul¬ 
gence, the drinking of the morning eye-opener. 
When his dressing and lavation were completed, he 
procured his brown bottle again and imbibed a 
draught. Then he breakfasted; and afterward 
took up the duties of his office, his soul possessed by 
a species of hilarity, subdued yet persistent. All 
morning he sought to combat this feeling, and to 
struggle against this leaden inertia gripping him. 
From the undue excitability of his nerves and the 
uncontrollability of his mental channels he found it 
so difficult to master his hands that after several 
miscuts in some minor operations he saw that he 
must again put off Patrick’s mastoiditis operation. 
Fie therefore telephoned the nurse to that effect, 
and summoned a messenger whom he sent with a 
note to the lachrymose Irishman. It was risking 
the man’s life, but what did he care now for that! 
The fellow had survived for some twenty odd years; 
what more of the misery of this world could he de¬ 
sire ! 

The scores of patients kept trooping into the phy¬ 
sician’s sanctum, however, each one expecting him to 
devote his mind and his sympathy to his or her par¬ 
ticular ailment, verily to perform miracles for them. 
His cynical laughter grew in proportion. His pes¬ 
simism was intensified by his sore consciousness that 
even alcohol—the judge’s “veritable panacea!”— 
had proven, like love, a cheat. Though giving Har¬ 
mon recuperation and energy it had given him — 


HERITAGE 


61 


this! Nevertheless, during the progress of the day 
he swallowed several drams from the amber bot¬ 
tle. The fluid caused a peculiar crinkling of his 
flesh, the effect his anatomy craved; and it filled him 
with an inner mirth, a ridicule of all things. On the 
whole it accorded him a kind of stimulation, a false 
feeling of power, and the will to do things. A 
falsity that was too palpable. His onerous tasks 
upon minute substances required power that was ac¬ 
tual. Yet the fiery stuff gave him a false sense of 
well-being, and that was what he desired. 

Came a young personage in the later afternoon 
hours, however, whose advent immediately produced 
in him a complete change of front. He was amused 
at the vagary which had prompted her to return 
so soon and without any tangible excuse. It was the 
hand of Fate working out an inscrutable will. Freda 
was gloriously beautiful. A pyrotechnic display 
bursting into illumination amid the darkness 
may brighten and cheer the firmament at its black¬ 
est. Aye, the manifest stateliness and superior dig¬ 
nity of his visitor, the incomparable soft beauty of 
her golden locks and fine eyes, the matchless perfec¬ 
tion of her finely gowned entirety, forced him to re¬ 
sume his customary professional gravity. There 
was something mischievous lurking in her merry 
soul, however, a bit of femininity’s quasi-evil which 
betrayed itself so quickly in her vibrant speech as 
to inveigle him into her peculiarly lightsome mood. 

She greeted him with a sweet, “Hello, Doctor,” 
then paused in mute astonishment, gazed at him in- 


62 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


tently a moment, and said laughingly, “I think you 
need a doctor yourself to-day! To be looking so 
dreadful in this lovely weather!” 

“Why, do I really look that bad?” he asked, 
smiling quizzically. 

“One would almost think,” she laughed in ingen¬ 
uous merriment, “that you had been on a—jag! 
were still on it, in fact! You know you’ve been 
drinking something; what was it?” They were alone, 
and she edged nearer to sniff the bouquet of the 
dram just fresh upon his lips. “Ah, is it—cognac? 
Oh, where is it? Have you some more?” 

“Would you really like some?” he questioned, 
smiling doubtfully. 

“Yes, certainly; but, oh, what is this?” she spoke 
evasively, picking up a gorgeous booklet from the 
table. 

“Omar’s Rubaiyat,” he answered. He assisted 
her to shed her cloak and he felt a flame of enchant¬ 
ment sweep over him. With something of a blush 
he vouchsafed, “You see, I’ve been reading it.” 

“So I perceive,” she agreed, eyeing him seriously. 
But her glance changed into mute fascination. So 
visibly strong and darkly handsome! An Adonis 
for beauty, but larger, slightly more Samsonian; but 
far from being an Adonis for constancy to the god¬ 
dess Rectitude. She contemplated him insistently. 
What had he been doing? Yesterday he had been 
of ice, and now he responded like an unrestrained 
college boy to her girlish lead. She herself was sim¬ 
ply reveling in that falsely conceived freedom of 


HERITAGE 


63 


her own college days—the girls had merrily in¬ 
dulged in playing with fire, although most carefully 
keeping themselves beyond the fire’s singeing flames. 
In a man of the doctor’s years and position in life, 
however, the mood seemed to her unnatural, and 
she intuitively knew that it signified something seri¬ 
ous. So thoroughly mischievous in this moment 
was she, however, that she laughed at her reflection 
—her fibres taut with hungry sympathy for him. 

“You know, I really haven’t read this Omar’s 
nonsense yet, myself,” acknowledged she, haphaz¬ 
ardly opening the thin volume in her dainty hands. 
“I heard of this poet’s fondness for his verve du vin, 
and I want to see what he has to say. I rather like 
a man with red blood in his veins, who dares to 
smoke, drink, and be a good fellow!” 

Freda watched the physician’s face covertly to 
note the effect of her mischievous words. But what¬ 
ever may have been her victim’s thoughts and feel¬ 
ings at that instant, they were quickly dispelled or 
superseded by others; for the doorknob in that ad¬ 
jacent entry hall clanked and in bustled Judge Har¬ 
mon. 

“Hello, Doc—ahem, beg your pardon.” He 
bowed to Freda. “Not ahead of time, am I?” 

“No; come right ahead,” spoke the doctor. “Er 
—Miss Warner, you’ll excuse us? We shall not be 
more than a minute.” 

“Yes, certainly,” acquiesced Freda, that merry 
twinkle in her orbs. 

“Not breaking in, am I, Doc?” insisted Harmon, 


64 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


standing in commanding, full-chested attitude and 
looking dubiously from one to the other. To him 
there seemed to be a rat in the woodpile. But as 
the physician’s suave persistence permitted no fur¬ 
ther hesitation, however, the incomer agreed, “Oh, 
all right!” 

In a few minutes he was being probed and gagged 
to his repletion. When he managed to get his 
breath again, he asked, “What have you that girl 
out there for, Rumford?” Although he received 
instead of a reply a new dose of gagging, he in¬ 
sisted, “Doc, you’d better beware of those sea- 
nymphs! You know what Kipling said, ‘The Youth 
was stripped to his foolish hide.’ Whew!—that 
young woman’s a beauty! But you’re too fine a man 
for that sort of thing. We need you! We must 
have you! You’ve the world’s work to do, man— 
that'll give you emotion aplenty—the great thrills of 
glory!” In subsiding an instant he grumbled half 
introspectively, “I wonder can she be one of those 
playthings of men—and consequently not fit for any 
of us—but, my! what a beauty!” 

The physician smiled blandly, not in a mood to re¬ 
sent this uncharitable aspersion. He had a weight¬ 
ier bone to pick with the jurist. “Well, she seems 
to agree with you in some things, especially regard¬ 
ing alcohol,” said he. His lips curled in sourness 
at the fraudulence of the justice’s beliefs. Was 
not the evil produced by them already so vividly de¬ 
picted in his, the doctor’s countenance, that Freda 
had immediately observed and commented upon it? 


HERITAGE 


65 


Harmon had so many drinks aboard that he was 
not keen on noticing another’s state of being as 
shown in physiognomy or demeanor. His psychic 
inner self was aroused through the stimulus of John 
Barleycorn and to-day he was for reform. In his 
morning session he had been making examples, grant¬ 
ing unduly long sentences. And now, in response to 
the doctor’s baiting, he blurted: 

“Drink’s a curse!” 

“Ahem—so you’ve joined the Prohibitionists to¬ 
day,” the busy practitioner flouted. 

The very mention of that lengthy word, with its 
suggestion of taking his drink away from him, 
lighted the judge with a contrary fire. 

“Oh, damn prohibition, Rumford! Why should 
a sensible man be deprived of his glass because of 
the weaklings? They’ll never do it—there are too 
many sensible drinkers who won’t be deprived.” 
He was stifled a moment by more of that asphyxiat¬ 
ing pharyngial douching, but finally managed to 
splutter, “Why, Doc, those scarecrows have to be 
sensible. The world’s moving toward a time when 
all will be exempt from the erratic actions produced 
by overindulgence. Sensible constant drinking is 
doing it. Look at the Italians and the Jews, Rum- 
ford; long indulgence has brought them immunity. 
It’s the non-drinkers who are holding back this 
world-progress. You’re aware that immunity to any 
disease comes through experiencing it for many gen¬ 
erations. You know only too well that the Indians 
and all other savages have suffered widespread gal- 


66 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


loping death when they’ve come into contact with 
any of the white man’s diseases that were new to 
them. Doc, dipsomania is remediable only by the 
destruction of those highly susceptible, and by the 
survival and reproduction of only those persons who 
are more resistent, the immune!” 

To this whiskey-inspired tirade Doctor Rumford 
hearkened with a smile. “That’s God’s gracious¬ 
ness,” he commented. “But I’m afraid our friend 
Turner would deem an absurdity the idea that the 
world has to steep itself broadcast in a wild drunk¬ 
enness in order to secure immunity from alcohol’s de¬ 
mons. For that’s what it must mean for the non- 
immune, the potential raving dipsomaniacs as you 
classify them; and I think these unfortunate ingrain 
alcoholics, whom you would condemn to violent un¬ 
timely death, rather predominate just now.” 

“Oh, you talk like a child, Doc! You’re too full 
of books. You need to get out and see life! Come 
up to my place. We’re having a soiree Thursday 
of next week—bring the wife along. Ah, I haven’t 
met your wife yet, but I’ve heard she’s a mighty 
fine woman!” He glanced up expectantly. 

His words caused a sparkling joy to leap within 
the physician’s blue-gray eyes, but he nevertheless 
toyed with his instruments a moment, not knowing 
quite what to do or answer. He knew that to bring 
Luella in at that moment was impossible—because 
of what he considered her homely raiment, her 
wrappers, and her peculiar distemper where he was 
concerned. Although this dampened his spirits a 


HERITAGE 67 

bit, on the other hand a wave of optimistic joy over¬ 
whelmed him and he spoke in soft exultation: 

“We shall be delighted, Judge!” His eyes 
glowed as he added, “And I thank you—deeply— 
from the bottom of my heart!” 

“Lord, man! And I thought you such a retiring 
sort! You fellows have such a gravity about you, 
or I’d have mentioned it sooner. I guess you’re like 
I am in the courtroom, more asleep with my eyes 
open than aught else—those lawyers are such a hum¬ 
bug lot. Well, I’m glad you’re coming.” He 
arose wearily from the chair. “I must add that Mrs. 
Harmon will be extremely pleased to see both you 
and your wife.” 

The jubilant enthusiasm animating the doctor’s 
fibres kept waxing more intense until he could 
scarcely restrain himself, he wished so to acquaint 
Luella with this latest guerdon of his toil, this as¬ 
cension to another rung of his golden ladder of 
fame. 

Meanwhile Miss Freda Warner was waiting pa¬ 
tiently in the adjoining larger room. In the first 
few minutes after the door of the examination cham¬ 
ber closed behind the physician and his patient she 
amused herself reading the Rubaiyat. She was 
thinking what an ugly bear this judicial personage 
was. He reminded her of a certain President that 
advocated numerous children—she shivered with the 
horrors ! But, ah, how different the doctor! What 
a magnificent man! How her fibres reached out to 
him! A certain quatrain of Omar’s intensified her 



68 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


interest and as she gleaned the meaning of the verses 
new sparkles of deviltry effervesced within her. 
With a little laugh she set the book open downward 
upon this particular page. Then she wondered if 
this staid physician was, after all, just as mediocre 
as her college boy friends. Nay, he was a super¬ 
man, every inch of him! She had found her ideal at 
last! 

Her survey of the somber resplendency about her 
imbued her with avarice. How she wished that it 
were all hers. Her soul was attracted to all beauti¬ 
ful things. She smiled. The chamber gave her the 
sensation of being in an art gallery. Exquisite cop¬ 
ies of old masters loomed in their golden frames. 
Built into the wall of that forward side opposite the 
entry archway was that glass-paneled bookcase, ex¬ 
tending from the floor halfway up, an oblong, many- 
windowed vision of multicolored volumes. Its 
woodwork and that of the entire chamber was ebony 
carved with racial heads, a mixture of diminutive 
Ethiopians, Mongolians, and low-foreheaded pri¬ 
mordial men, especially the woodwork of the quite 
massive fireplace, centrally located and graced by 
two heavy Chinese vases. 

With an avaricious little intake of breath she 
swept her gaze about the room. The ceiling was 
rounded down at its borders and traced by that or¬ 
nate gold-leafed molding, which encircled the ceil¬ 
ing frescoes of soft-tinted figures wafting among the 
clouds. Above the divan was another window con¬ 
taining a multicolored glass panel adorned with a 


HERITAGE 


69 


beautiful figure of Purity. Truly was this man a 
wizard, his handiwork the accomplishment of a 
genius. His finer instincts were ever paramount. 
The aggregated furnishings presented a symmetry, 
a faultless taste—from the expensive curtains of 
the forward windows and of the corner alcove 
music-room, the palm-graced niche containing the 
baby grand, throughout all the details to the now 
brilliantly lighted rear—a somber selection that was 
almost oppressive. 

Freda turned exultantly to the massive mirror in¬ 
set beside the entry archway—there for the vanity of 
the doctor’s patients!—and as she gazed at her 
golden substance a little flush crinkled about her eyes. 
Was woman really so beautiful, she pondered, as to 
be able to get by mere personal looks, if she wished, 
what this man was laboring so onerously to 
possess? She smiled self-confidently. She knew the 
potency of beauty—and the weakness of men. 

She turned again to her insatiable contemplation 
of this weird resplendency. A thrill of affection be¬ 
stirred in her bosom, a hunger such as she had never 
known in her life before. She felt the superexcel¬ 
lence of this disciple of God ennoble her. Nor was 
it lost to her how inoffensively and delicately he had 
commingled the risque nude and the immaculate re¬ 
ligious subjects of the gold-framed paintings. 

For an instant her eyes were attracted anew to 
another lamp of Nippon that was set upon the doc¬ 
tor’s spinet desk. The lamp stood about thirty 
inches high, its stem including a dancing Oriental 


7 o WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


Bacchanalian who gleamed with huge laughter at 
her through the softly spreading light, its risible fa¬ 
cial expression apparently animated by a slight quiv¬ 
ering due to its being loosely poised on the toe-tips 
of a limb, its other knee raised, its form set par¬ 
tially within the squirming coils of a spiny dragon. 
The latter had outwardly gripping limbs and claws, 
as if for its sustenance it were seeking the evil of the 
air, the evil of Freda’s heart perhaps. For she 
shuddered, sickened a bit by it; nevertheless, the 
lamp was gorgeously beautiful, its spray of lights 
branching above in the semblance of opaline half¬ 
open giant lilies that were formed of carven Turbo 
marmoratus shells. 

Freda’s eyes strayed for a moment to the large 
leathern divan extending along the rear of this wall, 
a couch ostensibly to be used by indisposed patients 
and concealable behind the tall Japanese screen gor¬ 
geous with peacocks and scenes of Nippon but now 
negligently set back near some curious antique cabi¬ 
nets lining the back wall. One of these cabinets 
contained the very tangible spirit of John Barley¬ 
corn. Forward of it was the doctor’s spinet desk. 
And to the left, standing beside the colored-glass 
door of the doctor’s private sanctum was the tall 
grandfather-clock, set there that the physician might 
watch the passing of the precious moments and 
cram into them as much work as possible. Minutes 
that were potent of joy and pain, and of which 
Freda herself could have but a small span. 


HERITAGE 


7i 


In the door’s glass was that beautiful portrait of 
the Good Samaritan. 

At the beginning of the left-hand long wall, in the 
dusky corner beyond the door admitting to the pri¬ 
vate family rooms, stood the large bronze Japanese 
lamp, wrought in beautiful life-size sculptural resem¬ 
blance to a geisha girl holding in Liberty fashion an 
opaline beacon at arm’s length above and before her, 
an art work which Freda fancied must be very im¬ 
pressive when illuminating this dim corner. She 
stepped to it and turned on the electric light of the 
beacon. She realized her expectations to their full¬ 
est. She used the gathering dusk as an excuse for 
turning on all other lights in the room and every 
object assumed enhanced resplendency and inten¬ 
sified her fascination. 

Forward along that left-hand wall were other 
odd and fantastic furnishings, including the costly, 
pearl-inlaid “Buddha” cabinet that had once upon a 
time been the home shrine of a slant-eyed family, 
an idolatrous image-container not unakin to the 
Catholic crucifix. The golden curio cabinet for a 
moment received her undivided attention. Mostly 
of crystalline glass, it had shelves that were heavily 
laden with all sorts of precious mementos of Occi¬ 
dent and Orient, tiny Buddhas, statuettes of Greek 
gods, sculptures of sacred beasts, jade snuff-bottles 
wrought with dragons and slant-eyed humans, 
Italian devotion tablets of majolica, delicately blown 
iridescent chalices in the form of lilies, tulips and 


72 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


other blossoms; further oddities were carved of 
ivory, of pearl, and of green, purple, pink and red 
corals; there were ancient golden trinkets—all in 
all an array of curios beautifully fashioned and quite 
beyond her viewing comprehensively at one time. 

As better divertisement she turned to a painting 
set in a dull-gold frame, that superb copy of Bou- 
guereau’s “The Lost Pleiad,” and became suffused 
with blushes as she studied that beautifully formed 
brunette figure floating undraped in the celestial 
ether. Her tense meditation was interrupted by the 
jingling of the doorknob, which warned her that 
the judge was about to come out of the examination 
chamber. She discreetly shifted sidewise and fas¬ 
tened her attention upon a beautiful copy of Rubens’ 
“The Holy Family” set above and blessing the 
hearth. 

Perhaps the justice comprehended her intended 
deception, for he failed to restrain an “Ahem” that 
gurgled in his throat. He may even have suspected 
her whole artful design, in that professional suspi¬ 
cion customary to his office, though even he himself 
did not always believe his judicial intuitions. At 
least some persons must be innocent. He came 
forth into the chamber swinging his cane jauntily. 

“Well, good day, Rumford; and mark my warn¬ 
ing!” He feigned to scowl at Freda, but his ex¬ 
pression was a lascivious smile. She returned his 
smile unabashed. 

Doctor Rumford’s eyes glowed with happiness as 
he voiced a cheery “Good-bye.” Vibrantly on edge, 


HERITAGE 


73 


anxious to get to his Luella, he glanced uncertainly 
at Freda. The dazzling beauty of her struck him 
so impressively as to produce a little quiver of his 
eyes, a token not unobserved by the girl. 

“You’ll excuse me for another minute or two?” 
he questioned impatiently. 

She nodded, flushed and smiling. She experienced 
a detracting twinge of emotion as he sped in such 
evident animation beyond that sacred door that con¬ 
cealed another woman’s sanctuary. That bugbear, 
marriage. She wondered were its joys as wondrous 
as painted. Many thoughts dashed through her 
mind as she spent the minutes in further study of 
these eccentric possessions. 

Meanwhile the doctor, hastening out into his sump¬ 
tuous living-rooms, called joyously, “Lou—oh, 
Louie!” He was fairly gasping with exultation. 

“Well?” queried Luella, coming in from the 
kitchen. She was not a little annoyed at this inter¬ 
ruption of her chat with the maids. Born to fine 
estate herself, the doctor could never understand her 
consorting thus with the help. Perhaps it was be¬ 
cause she had been weaned from her English aristoc¬ 
racy while in her childhood, ere reaching that age 
when snobbery is instilled in the adolescent youth. 
The help knew practically everything concerning the 
doctor’s household, because of their mistress’s un¬ 
restrained volubility. Luella noted the enraptured 
sparkle in her husband’s eyes and she wondered, 
“What now?” 

“Oh, Lou dear,” he bubbled over, “Judge Har- 


74 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


mon has invited us to his house for a soiree Thurs¬ 
day next! Oh, I guess we’ll climb, eh ?” The enrap¬ 
tured speaker’s arms impulsively reached out to her, 
his partner, hungry to enfold her. 

“Oh,” she exclaimed with falling voice, “is that 
all!” There came the disturbing sound of a baby 
crying aloft—there was always some infant cater¬ 
wauling in this house! The wife edged by her lord 
and master and gained the stairs. The green-eyed 
monster possessed her. 

“Luella!” His voice rang sharp and restraining. 

She turned when half-way up the staircase and 
said acidly, “You know I have no clothes proper to 
wear at such functions!” 

“That gown I just bought you is for this very pur¬ 
pose!” He was commanding, sharp, irritated. 
The garment in question was a veritable creation. 

“Oh, that rag!” she said lightly. She embosomed 
a strong motive now, but she always disliked what 
was bought for her, with the exception possibly of 
her worshipped house-robes, a pale blue one of 
which she now wore. She stared at him airily. 

Stunned, he stood aghast. His knees fairly trem¬ 
bled under him, a red fire snapping in his brain. He 
was mad clear through, yet in his habitual apprecia¬ 
tion of esthetic values he could not help observing 
what a fine woman she was, what a beautiful picture 
she presented poised thus gracefully in her loosely 
flowing gown there on the staircase above him, her 
eyes tantalizing, choleric, evasive. 

“You just want to get over there for mischief,” 


HERITAGE 


75 


she declared; then half laughed, half sneered, “Oh, 
I’m aware he has some young daughters!” 

Her senseless words were hot coals that lighted in 
him a fury. From her lips burst a merry little 
laugh as she watched him wax wroth. She added, 
“Oh, you are not going to win to those girls so 
easily as you are planning!” 

In utter rage he tore abruptly from her and toward 
his office. She sent a taunting peal of laughter af¬ 
ter him—she had beaten him! Then she turned 
around and smirking in her self-satisfied derision 
proceeded up the stairs. 

The doctor dashed toward his business chambers, 
his brain whirling. Beyond man’s comprehension 
are the doings of womankind. That picture of her 
standing upon the stairway maddened him—“a rag, 
and a bone, and a hank of hair!” Her senseless in¬ 
sults of him whipped up red flames in his brow. He 
wanted a woman of vibrant fellowship, one who 
could mingle with the world; a creature of sense who 
could give him the mental relaxation he craved. 
Luella was utterly hopeless, he saw. Tears of 
wrath burned his eyes. What in all Gehenna did it 
matter anyway, he concluded, flinging his arms 
widely. Wasn’t all this life but a ghastly joke per¬ 
petrated upon man ? Did not all paths of glory lead 
but to the grave, with reward neither here nor there ? 
Was not life itself but an eternal series of evolutions, 
with each newly born creature sinking fast and incon¬ 
sequentially into the dust? And did not the flower 
once blown forever die? What mattered then what 


76 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


these maggots suffered, this crawling slime of the 
earth that shivered at every little ache, yet had to 
die? Came again to him the thought that life was 
simply pain—but ah, God! he could secure the one 
real pleasure at will—the rest eternal! 

Force of habit, however, caused him to suppress 
every outward token of his emotions as far as possi¬ 
ble as he greeted Freda, who had observed his en¬ 
try a little timorously. Doctor Rumford was smitten 
with the fascinating aspect of her, as she stood tak¬ 
ing such a keen interest in his possessions. Never, 
he cogitated, had Luella done that; to his wife all 
this outlay was useless junk! He himself was justly 
proud of these treasures, for many a phrase praise¬ 
ful of his esthetic taste had been uttered by his 
friends; and encomium was music that fed his soul. 

“Well, Miss Warner, what do you think of 
them?” he questioned gently, attempting a smile. 
Something within him seemed to say it was better to 
be dallying in this sunshiny girl’s companionship than 
to be following those useless ambitions for a person 
who did not care. 

“Oh, I’m just enraptured over them!” exclaimed 
Freda, a blush crimsoning her countenance. 

“I see you’ve lighted the lamps,” he commented. 
“It is growing late. I hope I’ll not be bothered by 
any more patients to-night. I’ve kept you waiting 
long.” 

“Oh, I shouldn’t mind no matter how long you 
made me stay,” she bantered. She was simply fun¬ 
ning. For Freda was not possessed of an evil soul 


HERITAGE 


77 


—she was merely a woman. Like many of her sex 
she was gay, frivolous, yet would be quick to resent 
any intentional effrontery. The smile upon her lips 
bespoke her assurance that she was conversing with 
a kindred mortal in a classification of people accord¬ 
ing to their actual qualities. 

The doctor for his part had too often heard 
audacious language emanate from the lips of women 
of unimpeachable character to think of presuming 
upon it. This honeyed young woman seemed so 
brilliant as to be enveloped in an aureola, an angel 
steeped in God’s glorious ethereality, yet human. 
His mind was still too beclouded to catch the nub 
of her banter or to be thereby inveigled into her mis¬ 
chievous mood. 

“Have you seen my objects of virtu?” he asked, 
motioning to the crystal curio cabinet. 

“Yes; and aren’t they wonderful! I could almost 
ask you to—give me some of that quaint ancient 
jewelry,” she spoke gayly, her eyes dancing with 
rays of merriment. But he retained his cold, pro¬ 
fessional impassiveness as he continued glancing at 
the diminutive curios. 

Noting his indisposition to comply or to say aught 
in denial, she ventured, “My! but you must have 
traveled far and wide to collect such varied souve¬ 
nirs; they seem to come from everywhere.” 

“No,” he responded, shaking his head. Memory 
was causing his fury to lick up again within him. 
His choler was attended by a ferocious impulse to 
get to his brown bottle and steep his soul in its fiery 


78 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


contents. He continued to obey, however, the irk¬ 
some restraint this singular companionship imposed 
upon him. “I married young,” he spoke bitterly, 
but refrained from breathing the words, “a mesal¬ 
liance,” that wavered upon his lips. He continued, 
“I’ve done no journeying except for my professional 
studies. Luella—er—Mrs. Rumford doesn’t care 
to go. So I had to have brought to me here things 
that one would collect in traveling. And I have 
books in the case yonder picturing every portion of 
the globe.” 

“You poor man! Maybe you’ll be able to go 
yet! We never know what is in store for us.” She 
was unconsciously picturing herself traveling with 
him. 

“Except the somber inevitable,” he replied to her 
aphorism. He sighed heavily. 

“Oh, you’re pessimistic! You’re not happy, are 
you ?” 

What a girl she was! was his thought. So con¬ 
cerned with his welfare, so ingrained with sympathy, 
so unlike Luella! He felt a new sort of sensation, 
a yearning for her. Hang-over effects of his past 
drinks were still crinkling his substance, and there 
aroused within him a wicked mirth and a purpose 
born of long hunger. He stepped impulsively to¬ 
ward his evilly burdened cabinet to get some “cour¬ 
age water.” But he checked himself half-way. In¬ 
stead, he posed before some of his golden-framed 
paintings and hailed Freda: 

“Come here and let me show you some of my mas- 


HERITAGE 


79 


terpieces!” Probity was dominating him again. 
When Freda had stepped so close that they fairly 
touched, he continued, “They’re not all originals, 
though most of the smaller ones are. Yet I’ll 
wager this copy of Rubens’s ‘Samson and Delilah’ 
here above would hoodwink many a clever art con¬ 
noisseur if substituted for the original.” 

Freda scrutinized the Herculean figure standing, 
muscle-knotted, centrally in the picture and strug¬ 
gling valiantly with the helmeted soldiers amassed 
at his back, the buxom Delilah seated upon the sofa 
beside him. “What a powerful monster is that 
man!” laughed the merry girl. “I think his em¬ 
brace would mean destruction!” 

The physician smiled, sensing a faint unaccount¬ 
able impulse to put his arm around this slip of golden 
womanhood beside him. He cast a flushed side- 
glance at her. 

“And this!” cried she, skipping with averted 
sight past the risque “The Lost Pleiad” to a repro¬ 
duction of Knaus’s “Quarrel”; “you seem to have a 
penchant for fights.” She scanned the contents of 
the dance chamber, from the torn-shirted victor 
standing furious and dominant in the centre to the 
affrighted musicians upon the raised platform, a vic¬ 
tim lying on the floor before them and holding his 
side with anguish, and beside him down a stairway 
at the right four more combatants, one holding his 
aching head, yet all brandishing sticks and fists in 
ominous attitudes—broken chairs about the chamber 
speaking eloquently of the sudden fury of the fray 


8 o WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


—and a fair young Teutonic woman standing beside 
the valiant conqueror, wringing her hands toward 
him in anguished pleading. Gathering in all these 
details at a glance, Freda voiced gayly, “What a 
frightened lot!” 

The doctor saw something deeper in the picture. 
“I take it to be rather characteristic of this life,” he 
commented sadly. “Though a man by sheer 
strength of mind and body down his troubles, al¬ 
ways are there others rising up to vanquish him.” 

Freda observed her companion covertly, that pe¬ 
culiar smile upon her lips. She guessed rightly that 
he did not grasp the full significance of his words. 
She laughed as she remarked, “How frightened the 
woman looks! Yet I’d like to bet that down in her 
heart she wanted—to urge him on!” 

“Oh, I don’t think women care for fighting,” he 
dissented; “that is, this sort of brutalism. They 
like to fight the deeper fight—by word of mouth!” 

“Nay, I don’t think we’re all as bad as that!” 
denied Freda, fully aware of the lie upon her lips. 

But he accepted her words literally and a thrill 
gripped him as he decided that truly was she dif¬ 
ferent; then he arrived at the conclusion that all 
women were more or less unlike, the same as were 
all men. In gazing raptly upon her loveliness he 
experienced again that faint flush of hunger, the 
quickening lure of that evilly potent bottle in his 
cabinet. 

“And these,” laughed Freda, braving a nude 


HERITAGE 


81 


study of a man and a woman in the ethereal nether 
realms, “I wonder is he so precious, that she clings 
to him thus!” 

“The Rimini,” he breathed gently. “I guess you 
know the story of Francesca and her Paolo—bound 
inseparably together as the eternal punishment for 
their sin; but wait, I have another conception of 
them.” He stepped to his bookshelves and drew 
forth a copy of Dante’s Inferno. He fetched it 
to her, and as he deftly turned the leaves Freda 
drew close to see his subject, until her warm sweet 
breathings inadvertently bathing his cheek aroused 
in him an almost unrestrainable hunger to kiss those 
lips. But his inured impulses stayed him. He won¬ 
dered at his experiencing these entirely new emotions, 
and concluded that the reason he had never done 
so heretofore was because the general run of women 
differed so from this young personage beside him. 
He swiftly located the page he sought, bearing a 
photogravure of Cabanel’s painting. Freda invol¬ 
untarily shuddered at it, as she gazed upon this de¬ 
piction of the punishment of wearers of the scarlet 
badge. 

“What a devil!” she exclaimed breathlessly, ob¬ 
viously referring to the dark figure of the husband 
standing dimly visible with blood-stained sword just 
beyond a door at the right and peering back at his 
two motionless slain, who were lying with their 
pain-distorted heads resting upon the couch—silent 
for eternity. “Oh, take it away; I don’t like it!” 



82 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


gasped Freda, shuddering anew, a vision of this ever- 
threatening castastrophe entering her mind and 
creeping her flesh. 

Her eyes lighted upon the book of Rubaiyat in¬ 
verted on an open page on the table nearby. She 
stepped to the booklet, picked it up and reread her 
chosen lines, first to quiet herself, but more with an 
ulterior intent. The doctor’s meditations upon the 
Rimini had enhanced his unaccustomed mood. 

“Listen to this optimism,” laughed she. She 
read softly aloud, “ ‘Waste not your hour,—nor in 
the vain pursuit of This and That endeavor and dis¬ 
pute; better be jocund with the fruitful grape than 
sadden after none or bitter fruit.’ ” She laughingly 
raised her eyes, to find the doctor feasting his own 
upon her loveliness, in a mad hunger of worship 
and abandonment. 

“What do you say we take a nip?” he suggested. 
He remembered her remarks upon liquor. 

She hesitated a moment, measuring the man, then 
shrugged her shoulders in devil-may-care fashion 
and acquiesced gayly, “All right, I’m agreed.” The 
strain of exercising the innate hypnotic influences of 
her womanhood to master him was fatiguing her. 
Yes, a wee bracer would do her good. She laughed 
brokenly—in hysteria. But she subconsciously won¬ 
dered would the liquor so undermine him as to en¬ 
danger her. She sat on the heavy arm of his study 
chair and contemplated him as he stepped to his 
cabinet. What a splendid fellow truly! A hard 


HERITAGE 


83 

man to light, but what a fury of amorous flames he 
promised! How straight, how finely built, grace¬ 
ful and darkly handsome he was! Yet, oh so weak, 
to fetch that bottle that way—so like other men. 

The doctor carried the bottle and the tiny glasses 
to the table, then poured forth two drafts and ex¬ 
tended one to her. Taking it into her dainty fingers, 
she consented to his wish by holding her amber¬ 
laden glass momentarily aloft though not quite 
touching his. 

“Here’s to superior womanhood!” he toasted. 

“Huh! I will be less equivocal,” she retorted; 
“here’s to you—just you!” 

But something had happened. He had forgot¬ 
ten her very existence. The bite of the alcohol 
was satisfying within him that long-nurtured hank¬ 
ering; this liquid fire was feeding the unquenchable 
smouldering of his vitals. 

At the first glass came the thought, how good it 
was! It ate so into his fibres, into his very soul! 
In his eyes ignited that uncanny glow that shines in 
a beast’s eyes as it feeds upon its prey. Something 
of the creature’s viciousness was aroused within him. 
He seized the bottle, poured a second glassful and 
gulped it, then a third, and was rapidly pouring a 
fourth—when Freda’s hand stayed him. She was 
thoroughly astounded. 

“That will do,” she said simply. 

He stared at her a moment, his mind beclouded, 
his aspect resembling that of the beast still hungry 


84 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


and licking its chops in avid contemplation of a fur¬ 
ther live morsel. Feigning to recover himself, he 
removed his hand from the glass. 

“Of course—how that stuff grips one!” he mur¬ 
mured. His vitals afire, he stood dazed and glanc¬ 
ing down at the bespectacled blue dragon of the 
Chinese floor-rug, the serpent thing staring up at 
him as if mocking him. He emitted a short, bit¬ 
ter laugh, and glanced around at those dusky beauti¬ 
ful pictures adorning his walls. Then to suit his 
weird mood he staggered over to his spinet desk 
and proceeded to turn out the opaline lights of his 
dancing-bacchanal lamp set thereon, all save one; in 
the quivering radiance of this light the vibrating 
monster seemed to cavort in a perfect frenzy at sign 
of this evil preparation. The man-monster then 
turned to the bronze geisha girl comprising the 
massive lamp in that inmost corner. A woman 
should lead him, from the dusky obscurity into 
what—into utter obscurity—what mattered it— 
what was to be must be! These thoughts that 
she awakened checked him, however—somewhat 
brought back his manliness. 

These curious emotions were so new to him that 
through force of habit he studied his individual psy¬ 
chology for the origin of them; was he drunk from 
the sum of the various drinks he had taken these 
past forty-eight hours; or was he quick to intoxicate, 
through the agency of this latest copious imbibition, 
like the judge’s whooping, rampaging Redskins? 
What a jumble these theories were! Or was he 


HERITAGE 


85 


simply drunk with rage or passion or some deeper 
emotion of the flesh? 

Freda, herself somewhat inspirited by her dram, 
stood merrily watching him. Fearing that his heed¬ 
less light-extinguishing might compromise her, she 
half purposefully exclaimed, “Oh, come and tell 
me about this painting here! How truly beautiful 
it appears!” 

“That’s Girodet’s ‘Atala’,” he breathed with a 
forced laugh as he jauntily obeyed her behest and 
drew up at her side. He was trying hard to re¬ 
gain his grip upon himself. 

Freda studied in the portrait the delicate beauty 
of the lifeless female form that had just been borne 
into the encompassing shadowy cavernous tomb and 
that was poised above the black grave, the patriar¬ 
chal father supporting the sweet head and shoulders, 
the girl’s grieving lover Chactas enclasping her 
limbs. 

“With what a mad affection he embraces her 
knees!” Freda sighed; she was pleased in noting the 
change the doctor’s demeanor had undergone, his 
apparent resumption of his usual manly mien. She 
breathed, “What a pity for her to die and lose such 
love!” 

“I quite agree with you,” the physician vouch¬ 
safed. “I’m never done with worshiping it myself 
or with envying him that emotion. I wish I had 
one so precious.” 

His words fluttered Freda with a happy thrill, 
and with eyes firelighted she questioned, “Do you 


86 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


think any one ever feels that way after securing real¬ 
ization—after the first glamour is gone?” The 
doctor remaining meditative, she exclaimed, “And, 
oh, see the cross depicted beyond—out there in the 
sunlight!” 

The physician did not answer her, but his musing 
went into deeper channels. Out of the sunlight into 
the grave—into the darkness—that darkness which 
now seemed ever haunting him, beckoning to him 
like the demons of the rugs and lamps; he felt huge 
excitement arousing within him again, a desire to 
utter some great blasphemy! But he checked him¬ 
self, forced his ego further into his soul’s dark. 

Freda’s eyes, bright and laughingly guileful, es¬ 
pied another picture which attracted her, a fine but 
more diminutive and ebony-framed print of Mac- 
Monnies’s nude statuary “Venus and Adonis,” hung 
above the back of the divan. In order to lean closer 
to the picture to read the inscription at its base, she 
set her knee upon the leathery divan, did it purpose¬ 
fully from the irresistible impulse of the deviltry in¬ 
herent within her. She enjoyed so intensely her 
baiting of him. Her unusual posture consummated 
the mischief. It is the unusual always ! The physi¬ 
cian through his veil of darkness watched her, noted 
her graceful delineations and grew imparadised with 
yearning. What an ethereal vision of loveliness 
she was. An angel in human guise if ever one lived! 
The judge’s words flew in stinging rebuttal—“The 
plaything of men!” Never! But assuming she 


HERITAGE 


37 

were, how many kisses she still could receive and 
as his soul woman! Yesterday was yester¬ 
day, to-day was to-day, and to-morrow could be his 
to-morrow if he so willed it! 

Freda was not any such creature. She was in¬ 
nocently engaged in deciphering Shakespeare’s lines, 
“Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth 
beauty; thou wast begot, to get it is thy duty.” She 
gasped in startlement. Apparently the physician 
knew what she was reading. The weight of these 
things, combined with the lureful effects of his im¬ 
bibitions, depressed the scale and outweighed his 
sense of honor. The impulse to clasp her became 
irresistible. Freda sensed his strong arms about 
her and though she half angrily seized them and 
tried to force them off they enfolded her. Eler 
thoughts speeding with lightning rapidity, she 
glanced up at him, an inquisitive tantalizing smile in 
her gaze. 

His heritage was gleaming like madness from his 
soul, yet Freda felt assured there was no harm to 
be feared from his passion. Despite her merriment 
at her consummation of her prank, she soliloquized 
that it was a shame to see him tempted thus by 
whiskey and its attendant evils. She knew that he 
had not yet attained the highest pinnacle of success 
possible to him. 

In his embrace she felt enwrapped in the dark¬ 
ness of eternity, strange emotions and a hodge¬ 
podge of unwonted thoughts flashing through 


88 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


her mind in the time of a star’s twinkle. She was 
filled with a sense of yielding, a desire to snuggle 
closer to him, impelled by her growing love for him, 
that strange urge that had brought her hither. But 
despite her impassioned smile she was very much 
concerned about these entwining arms and their en- 
ravished owner, a little rebellious. 

“God! Miss Warner,” the physician breathed 
huskily, “just the touch of you!—when I gaze into 
your eyes I am fairly crazed! What in heaven’s 
name is the mystery of you!” 

In that encircling gloom illumed solely by the soft 
radiance of the laughing-bacchanal’s iridescent shell 
light Freda truly felt enclasped in a strange para¬ 
dise. A soft arm crept up, encircled his neck. The 
hungriness of her awakening love was gleaming in 
Freda’s eyes, a self-relinquishing smile flitting upon 
her face as she looked up at him. Like the burst¬ 
ing of powder the doctor’s fibres responded to her 
stimulus, and all the passion of a thousand loves 
burned in their kiss as lips met lips. 

Freda with her golden head cradled in his dusky 
arms was fairly drunk with strange ecstasy. Never 
before had she known these exquisite sensations. 
Recurred to her the knowledge that she had no right 
to this man who was kissing her, that he was mar¬ 
ried. In quite any other man’s arms she believed 
she would have felt unendurable revulsion. Over 
her swept a saddening feeling of guilt, of having 
committed the unpardonable sin—the betrayal, the 
debasement of the one beloved. She was filled with 


HERITAGE 89 

compassion and sorrow for him whilst she drew him 
tighter to her in this wild instant. 

That he was rightly hers something in her sub- 
consciousness convinced her, her predestined mate 
for all eternity. And although in the darkness of 
her soul some mocking voice told her this love- 
dream was all lies, lies, she clung to him more des¬ 
perately. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t give him up! 
It seemed as if all the forces of her were streaming 
out into him through her lips. Only too brief was 
that kiss, yet the darkness of time infinite seemed 
wafting over them—until they were fairly smoth¬ 
ered ! 

When the doctor withdrew his lips, he staggered 
back remorsefully—conscience-bitten by his error, 
but Freda prompted quickly, intuitively, “Don’t you 
care!” Her words seemed to reassure him. He 
had half released her, but again he enfolded her and 
breathed ardently: 

“Freda, you’re my golden-pheasant woman!” 

Smiling up at him through her tears she asked, 
“Now, do you think you would like to die thus, and 
be like the Rimini?” 

The euphony of her voice, the exotic perfumes 
and womanly emanations of her imparadised him. 
Aye, to hold her thus eternally, this lovely flower of 
womanhood, who had obviously come as God’s gift 
to him! Wished he to incur the fate of the Rimini ? 

“It would be a euthanasia divine,” he whispered, 
“a penalty that I’d gladly endure through all eter¬ 
nity!” 


90 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP ’ 


But his conscience smote him again; he was do¬ 
ing wrong. The suggestion of the couch?—his 
mind was against it by the admonition of the Seventh 
Commandment; like a sign appeared in his thought 
the words, Thou shalt not commit adultery. The 
liquor within defied his conscience. His craving 
augmented. Against the wealth of good maxims 
gained during his years of self-restraint, remembered 
words from his innumerable readings flew to aid 
that demon within him, coaxing him, its master, 
“Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring the 
Winter Garment of Repentance fling!” 

The doctor was no longer himself; the Fiend of 
Drink possessed him, dominated him. The costly 
perfumes exhaled by Freda’s diaphanous garments 
enraptured him. Freda had become a thing of 
paradise to him. In that alcoholic dimness he felt 
surrounded as by the magic of innumerable spirits. 
His aura of probity was fast dissipating. Through 
uncontrollable impulse again and again he drew upon 
the hot petals of her lips and upon the warm silk of 
her cheek and throat. 

Aye, drink was master! The fiendish bacchanal 
within the yellow radiance on the spinet desk was 
dancing his liveliest! The dusky dragon claws were 
reaching out into the nothingness spasmodically— 
hideously! And below, the bespectacled eyes of the 
blue creeping thing limned in the Chinese rug 
stared up at these twain, appearing to be evilly mock¬ 
ing them as if exulting in huge laughter over this 
latest Satanic conquest! 


HERITAGE 


9i 


I he cherished paintings gleamed softly upon this 
pair who, though apparently lost in the ecstasies of 
their fervent embrace, centred and dominated a pic¬ 
ture greater than any depicted upon the canvases, 
for they were of flesh and blood, of God’s substances 
—not semblances but entities, realities. Yes, what 
a magnificent tableau this couple presented, this ex¬ 
tremely handsome man enclasping fondly his golden 
woman, amid his enshadowed treasures. 

That opalescent radiance of the bacchanal’s single 
shell-light lent to them a dusky witchery. And all 
about the furnishings were mysteriously high-lighted, 
gleamy patches showing on curios and statuettes, on 
edges of cabinets and chairs, on the draperies of 
the bronze geisha girl, and perhaps the strongest 
glow was upon a large damask pillow ornamenting 
an end of the couch. 

They were quite alone, realized it. The house 
was quiet. Beyond that inner connecting door the 
living-chambers were deserted—in darkness. 
Every one was aloft. Luella had supped, and 
taken her children to early slumber, regardless of 
him, her husband—or of his erstwhile fuming—or 
of his desire to pester himself with overwork in that 
office. 

But almost with its inception Freda’s loathing of 
this drink-inspired embrace became so thoroughly 
tempestuous that she struggled—though with unof¬ 
fending, softly whispered protests and exhortations, 
with flaming cheeks and hysterical laughter, to re¬ 
lease herself. Loath to forsake him, however, she 


92 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


extended him an invitation—that he remembered. 
Like some fluttering precious bird she impulsively 
escaped from his grasp—but, oh, so reluctantly. 
Aglow with amative radiance, she backed to the 
door, her laughing eyes fastened upon his more 
somber ones—then with a last flushed smile and a 
movement of her lips in an inaudible breathing of 
“Good night!” she turned and sped out into the 
evening dark. The doctor experienced an abysmal 
loneliness. 


CHAPTER V 


SUNNY SMILES 



URING the following morning Doctor 
Rumford was working in his office with 
hands that quivered so that he scarcely 
dared attempt even the most trivial surgery. His 
mind was befogged and depressed. In the agony 
of remorse that attended this dawn he had vowed 
that he would never repeat that false and foolish 
step; never would he touch another drop of liquor. 
The night previous had been an uncanny nightmare. 
Following Freda’s departure had come sharp re¬ 
action. And not without something of the emotions 
of a craven dog that has committed some treacher¬ 
ous depredation had he stolen upstairs through the 
darkness, his soul sickened by realization of his de¬ 
basement. And throughout the subsequent hours of 
ephialtes-ridden slumber in that encouchment beside 
Luella he had kept twisting and turning, his inner- 
spirit flailed by repentance. 

Since arising he had studiously avoided Luella. 
And now, while working, he could not shake off this 
feeling of degradation; he despised himself for em¬ 
bosoming it, hated Luella for having failed him, and 
loathed particularly Judge Harmon for having de¬ 
frauded and debauched him; aye, hated all people 

93 



94 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


collectively and individually. The emotion was not 
good for his business; little digs consequent to this 
mental state in the practitioner are not pleasant to 
sensitive flesh. 

But although weak, nervous and oppressed by 
his degradation, he cogitated was he any worse than 
the general run of men? Their scorched throats 
and other telltales betrayed them. He decided he 
was worse than these culprits, for he possessed 
knowledge that they lacked, erudition which para¬ 
doxically had not proven deterrent. Moreover, 
two or more doers of wrong do not make the deed 
right in principle; company in evil does not mitigate 
the evil. He was glad to get his mind as much as 
possible off his dilemma. But returned ever that 
condemnation of himself, who had thus aligned him¬ 
self with the commonest. 

During the progress of the day, the physician’s 
mental fog deepening, he assumed viewpoints of 
thought that were rather antithetical. A time when 
he was alone for a moment and was sitting pensively 
with head upon his hands his cogitations upon this 
incipient ruin that had come into his life caused the 
hot tears to flood his eyes. He attributed all this 
trouble to Luella; that paradise to which Judge 
Harmon’s invitation had opened the shimmering 
portals was impossible for them to attain so long as 
Luella pursued her present line of conduct. Then 
in a contrary turn of mind he asked himself what 
right had he to condemn any one for his own faults, 
especially Luella, the irreproachable mother of his 


SUNNY SMILES 


95 


children. Had she ever done anything even ap¬ 
proximating this hideous sin of his! Would she 
tolerate him for a second did she know? And 
“Murder will out!” was one of her favorite expres¬ 
sions, the truth of which we shall see. 

At this point in the doctor’s cogitations a patient 
entered. The physician arose and sought to 
straighten his mental channels and his attire to re¬ 
sume his mandatory professional gravity. He was 
figuratively upon a narrow path that girded a moun¬ 
tainside, above him a sunny Edenic crest reachable 
by that path, but at his side a murky, fiery abyss far 
easier of attainment. Strange, he meditated, that 
any man should choose deliberately to attempt to 
soar in this abyss knowing he must fall swiftly to 
destruction. But what a countless legion, he knew, 
did woo the spectre Evil! The disciples of John 
Barleycorn, of King Nicotine! The drug-fiends! 
They knew not what harm they did themselves, pre¬ 
maturely taking their bodies from life’s sunlight 
into the hideous darkness, into that revolting rot 
and mold of the stifling grave—hourly brought 
themselves nearer to the yawning, oppressive sepul¬ 
chre. Yet it was so easy to live. God gave them 
a durable body—they had but to avoid poisons, and 
life would be theirs in full measure. 

During the hours of this day Doctor Rumford 
endeavored to bear his recurrent weight of fatigue 
and to resurrect his former will-power. The pa¬ 
tients were not aware of his mental condition, for all 
active physicians are rather serious gentlemen. 


96 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

With the passing of the hours, however, he sensed 
his store of energy rapidly depleting. Then he be¬ 
gan to argue that his decision not to drink was but 
foolishness—puerility. A dram of whiskey helped 
him; it brought its attendant evil but it helped him. 
And that was what he required. 

There were little tendrils of thirst creeping up 
within him and a dryness in his throat, sensations 
new to him and insistently suggestive of the amber 
liquid. Was he a coward, a degenerate weakling, 
that he couldn’t take a stimulant without criminally 
debauching! Such was the beguiling appeal of the 
fiend within him, the Fiend of Immorality. He 
was vividly aware that he had that operation to per¬ 
form on the festered ear of Patrick, who was soon 
to be here; that operation must be accomplished to¬ 
day ! 

The doctor went to his cabinet, poured out a 
glassful of the inspiriting fluid and quaffed it. He 
felt assured it would eradicate much of the fatigue 
that was dragging upon him. Though he still 
drank with a grimace, he no longer hesitated, once 
the glass was in his hand. As with all immoralities, 
the initial step had been exceedingly hard to take, 
but each new indulgence bit less upon his conscience. 
He perceived rather that a long-nurtured desire was 
being gratified. 

He glanced at the clock—the Hibernian should 
now be there. Came patient after patient, but Pat¬ 
rick arrived not. A glint shot into the doctor’s 
eyes. The man was probably on a drunk; in his 


SUNNY SMILES 


97 


religious hysteria he couldn’t leave alcohol alone, 
even when his life was in jeopardy! Thus the 
physician soliloquized forcefully, and though him¬ 
self the first to procrastinate, he finished his reflec¬ 
tion with, “Well, if he doesn’t come, what happens 
won’t be any fault of mine!” 

During the remainder of the day, the doctor made 
several more trips to the brown bottle. Thereupon 
he experienced a complete change of mental out¬ 
look in regard to a certain matter. All his good¬ 
ness of the morning disappeared; was it through the 
agency of the reversing exorcisms of the lamp and 
drug demons, or was it not perhaps more truthfully 
through means of the deteriorating magic of the 
minute whiskey fiends, or was it simply the arousal 
of innate dormant depravity? His tossing abed 
the night before took on a different aspect. He 
recalled the sweet thrills of emotion that had flut¬ 
tered in him then, consequent to clinging remem¬ 
brances of the utter loveliness of Freda, an after- 
math of the intoxication produced by her exquisite 
exotic perfumes and her honeyed womanly warmth. 
In thinking upon them he experienced again these 
emotions, and his hunger was trebly bestirred. 

Came also deterring remembrances. In brief in¬ 
tervals of wakefulness this past night he had dis¬ 
covered he had won to but a deeper loneliness in 
that encouchment with Luella. Also, in his night¬ 
mares had become audible some supernatural music, 
some choral voices singing, “Yield not to temptation, 
for yielding is sin,” followed by intermittent dark- 


9 8 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

ness, then, “Dark passions subdue.” How he de¬ 
tested that hymn, cursed those singers! It was 
plain that the staid, coldly ambitious Doctor Rum- 
ford was metamorphosing through drink and pas¬ 
sion into a man of lower type, of sordid impulses. 
There was still time for a staying hand to save him, 
but whence was to come that hand? This new per¬ 
sonality was mounting rapidly, the soul of Adam 
quitting his halcyon Eden. Oft in that past night’s 
sleep the physician had laughed audibly in bitter¬ 
ness, though fortunately not so loudly as to awaken 
Luella—and as often again he had sobbed, sobbed 
deep down within him in the dark abysms of his soul. 

And now in these moments whilst he worked upon 
his patients Freda’s words came tingling, “You 
must come up and see me to-morrow evening—I 
shall be waiting there hungry for you.” This had 
been her invitation. The starlight that twinkled in 
her eyes haunted him now. It had been such a won¬ 
derful sensation to hold her in his arms, her whole 
aspect so tenderly yielding and vibrantly reponsive 
in contrast with that inert antipathy ever exhibited 
by Luella. 

By dusk his hunger was beyond restraining. His 
arms tingled with remembered warmth. Why 
should he deny himself? he argued. He wanted 
the madness of those kisses, to hear again that musi¬ 
cal, subdued laughter. 

At the termination of his day, at that hour when 
he should have supped, then taken up his studies, 
he sat fatigued in the dusky office, somewhat in the 


SUNNY SMILES 


99 


manner of Rodin’s “Thinker” and reviewed the pros 
and cons of this affair. Finally he arose, gulped a 
glassful of whiskey, which doubly settled his pur¬ 
pose. He hastily put away his instruments. His 
whole substance, now become fatigueless through 
the magic of love’s attraction, was reaching out in 
a hunger to enfold Freda. 

At the supper table he partook of the repast with 
a quiet serenity, for once undisturbed by Luella’s 
purposive and affronting admonitions of her chil¬ 
dren. After the meal he sought to excuse himself 
with: 

“I must go to a Mr. Whimple to-night; he was 
unable to come to me.” 

Luella was suspicious instantly, and her brows 
gathered. “I don’t care where you go!” she said 
acridly. 

The manifest sarcasm of her words bit him to the 
quick, and he slammed his chair to the table, turned 
to his office and at the door of his clothes closet 
donned his hat and overcoat. Then picking up his 
black grip though scowling at the necessity of carry¬ 
ing it, he stepped forth into the night. 

Within an hour he alighted from his rented taxi 
and bid the man wait even though it became mid¬ 
night. The doctor possessed no limousine of his 
own partly because he deemed his time too precious 
to spend it riding around in a car, he seldom hav¬ 
ing to call upon his patients, but largely because he 
felt the need of the little walking in which he found 
time to indulge. In the concealing dark he saun- 


ioo WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


tered up the path of the home to which he had been 
invited and which was located several towns distant 
from his own. Upon his ringing the doorbell, a 
maid admitted him into the fine reception room. 

A few minutes’ wait, then Freda came merrily to 
him, more gorgeously beautiful than ever. There 
was a slight swaying glide to her walk, which re¬ 
minded him of a certain popular danseuse; he 
judged that his Freda must be a disciple of Terp¬ 
sichore. Her costume was a softly-clinging, mus¬ 
tard-gold silk, shadow lace lightening the shoulders 
and revealing the soft mould of her throat and 
bosom. So different from Luella’s raiment, which 
was so provokingly motherly, albeit dainty and 
costly. Surely, Freda’s people must have money. 

By way of greeting, Freda curled her extended 
fingers in his. “So you really came! I was 
afraid you wouldn’t,” she laughed lightly. 

He was ravished, and stammered, “I—I guess 
I had to!” 

“Am I that compelling?” she asked. 

He breathed a deep sigh, but the expected com¬ 
pliment died upon his lips. 

“You think me beautiful,” she twitted. “And 
why shouldn’t I be—isn’t it an art with me?” 

“I think not,” he replied simply. 

“Oh, you are a dear!” She snapped her lips in 
a kiss of his cheek; whereupon he waxed hungry— 
half sought to embrace her, but she recoiled gayly 
from his grasp. “Not so fast, Mr. Bear!” she 
teased. “Give me, instead, your wraps. My maid 

( 

c < 

C t * 

< ' ( 

r fiX <■ 

p t;' 

C A * 


SUNNY SMILES 


IOI 


wanted to go out, so I let her; she understands that 
you are a doctor —a great physician come to pre¬ 
scribe for me !” She tossed her head as she laughed 
in utter gayety. 

When he was relinquishing his wraps to her, 
their eyes met more steadily for an instant and she 
perceived in his a hunger, a something so much 
deeper than this frivolity merited that she felt a 
pain stab her. She realized that they had endured 
a loss that was irrevocable. And was it the sad, 
sweet yearning of a reciprocated love that shone in 
her eyes? 

“I must put these things away,” said she, retreat¬ 
ing from him. She kept her lingering gaze upon 
him. “I sha’n’t be long,” she promised. 

He stood quiet, thoughtful and heart hungry, 
his arms yearning for her—John Barleycorn was in 
strong possession of him. Her vibrant personality 
and stunning beauty fascinated him. So gay and in¬ 
spiriting! In this instant came serious thoughts. 
Would that she was his—in the sanctity and purity 
of wedlock! Gone then would be the gray nights 
and the deadness of his hearth! And, ah, the joy 
of that social whirl were she his partner in the 
dances, he lionized by women and she looked upon 
with cupidity by men. “Those matchless two!”— 
yet unjealous of each other, two souls in a com¬ 
munion divine! 

A beautiful thought that was swiftly counter¬ 
balanced by his realization that he might be discov¬ 
ered. What right had he there anyway? Was he 


102 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


sinking himself to the level of the cads he had al¬ 
ways despised? His honor, his manhood—he 
owed them to Luella. But a soft cloak of emotion 
enveloped him like a breath of paradise, enthralled 
him like Freda’s own breathing, and chained him 
to the spot. 

He breathed a deep sigh and in one swift glance 
gathered in the details of this parlor that differed 
from his own in its simplicity of elegance. In its 
depths an ivory-colored baby grand piano was em¬ 
bowered in ferns and graced by a tall brass lamp 
with mushroom-shaped shade. There were a num¬ 
ber of finely framed etchings upon the walls, an ex¬ 
cellent Persian rug upon the floor, and a few other 
requisites all in a delicate harmony including some 
chairs upholstered in light brocade and an immense 
divan similarly covered and set before the lighted 
hearth. A large bouquet of flowers crested a table 
vase, the significance of which he did not grasp—the 
gift of an unfavored wooer. 

Returning, Freda recuddled her fingers in his 
as she gayly bantered, “You see, I have just a wee 
bit of your esthetic obsession.” He did not know 
whether she was referring to the removal of his 
wraps lest they mar the orderliness of this chamber, 
or to the absolute tastefulness of the room, or to 
the magnificence of her own person; but he was 
ready to agree with her in any case. Possibly she 
was alluding to the little vanities of toilet in which 
every woman indulges. 

She found great merriment in studying the be- 


SUNNY SMILES 


103 


puzzlement constantly betrayed in his features, for 
she comprehended that she represented to him the 
great enigma—woman! “Won’t you come and sit 
down with me on my divan?” she asked. 

“Yes—with delight,” he replied. 

She slid into a corner of the divan, and he staidly 
seated himself a respectful distance from her; 
She saw that something weighty dominated him, 
held him aloof. For a moment they gazed pen¬ 
sively into the wood flames. 

“Were you so terribly busy again to-day?” she 
asked. 

“Quite,” he responded heavily. He breathed in 
deep suspiration. The exigencies of deportment 
depressed him, the need of his being elsewhere than 
here. He felt the call of his world-work, as a 
chosen disciple of God; like the substance of a dream 
arose in his mind a vision of the long-robed and 
soft-haired Christ Jesus walking upon the waves, 
pleading with, commanding him. Inherent in the 
doctor’s heart was the desire to bask in the purer 
joys of the soul. Indulging in this fantasy, he 
gazed into the coals, undecided—inert. 

Freda stole a glance at him. She saw that a 
gray pallor overspread his countenance once more 
and she became compassionate. “O great man of 
the world,” she said, laughing nervously, “how shall 
poor I entertain thee? Ah, I remember—you are 
fond of music! Perhaps my pitiful efforts will 
cheer you here in my gloomy domicile!” 

He raised his brightening gaze to her and agreed, 



104 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

“I shall be delighted to hear you play, Freda.” 

“Then, do thou sit here,” she exclaimed, leap- 
ing up; “nay, nay—sit thou by these burning embers” 
—in rebuke of his attempt to rise—“my handsome 
god of Olympus, whilst I, thy poor mortal shep¬ 
herdess, with my pink fingers bestir the rippling 
waters for you!—lest you interrupt!” 

“Very well,” he acquiesced, athrill under her re¬ 
straining touch. He sat back and watched her as 
with that characteristic rhythm of motion she 
seated herself at the piano. 

She turned and bantered, “I suppose you are not 
particular, Sir Critic—ragtime, opera or love 
melody!” 

“Whichever you like best,” he replied. He 
studied her as she hastily ran through a pale laven¬ 
der folio and presently selected Nevin’s Venetian 
Love Song } which she placed in the piano rack be¬ 
fore her, then immediately set her fingers flitting 
swiftly into its depths of harmony. He looked and 
marveled. He was astonished at her technique, but 
more vividly at the matchless picture she composed 
seated before her creamy piano in the center of the 
yellow glow of the tall brass lamp. She was en- 
bowered by ferns, and her raiment fell gracefully 
about her form. Her exquisitely coiffured hair 
seemed more golden than ever in this dusk- 
surrounded lamp radiance. Her eyes rivaled the 
surrounding lights, the brilliant sparkle in them gay, 
mischievous, fascinating! Her pink and white fin¬ 
gers played over the keys with an easy dexterity, a 


SUNNY SMILES 


105 


technique and depth of touch that brought out all 
the rich beauty of the composition and thoroughly 
astounded him; aye, roused in him an insuppres- 
sible longing. How different from Luella! How 
this girl had converted impending dullness, perhaps 
calamity, into utter enchantment! 

The doctor was passionately fond of music and 
he lowered his gaze the better to hear, his substance 
rhythmically flooded as by the music of the spheres. 
He embosomed only one intenser consciousness— 
the hunger to possess her. Into what a mansion of 
Elysium would she transform his home. Bright 
would it be with the sunlight of her in the day hours; 
and gloriously bewitched by the supernal gold of her 
in his office donjon—playing thus for him, or cutting 
up capers, or snuggled in his arms upon a divan and 
dreamfully gazing into his hearth fire—after the sun 
had set and the day’s work was done. Alas, for 
those who peer into flickering embers and yearn 
vainly for what might have been. Of what use his 
dreaming, as he himself realized, when he was so 
inescapably pinioned by the shackles of matrimony? 

He became entranced by the view in those em¬ 
bers, the vista of those eternal days to be spent in his 
home in gloom and emptiness because of Luella’s 
repellant attitude. This gray outlook was appall¬ 
ing and he felt that fierce rebellion rouse within him 
again. Why, he questioned himself, must a man ac¬ 
cept marriage as a lottery, permitting the frauds and 
falsities of the courted one to hide her true nature, 
to blight his life? That hideous error had been 


io6 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


made by him, but with an inner bristling he vowed 
he would not stand for its being beyond undoing. 

So lost was he in these reflections that Freda, hav¬ 
ing finished her piece, had turned her h*ead and was 
watching him. Intuitively, she sensed the trend of 
his thoughts and was displeased. She was at the 
verge of teasing with him, “Well, of whom are 
you thinking?” and to flay him as with a lightning 
lash by adding, “Of your dear Luella, I dare say!” 
but something big seemed to mount into her throat 
and the banter died upon her lips. In an endeavor 
to banish her emotion, she gave finger boisterously 
to impromptu splurges that were almost riotous. 

Her merry din caused him to fasten his gaze upon 
her once more. He studied every detail of her, 
her whole substance and soul so vibrant! flying in a 
twinkling from the sublime to the ridiculous—and 
in a moment to fly again to the empyreal heights. 
In his mind her soul quivered like a great flutter¬ 
ing bird—his eagle-woman! He wondered if he 
could induce her to return to the divan; he wished 
to sense her close, to gaze into the firelight with 
her and to delve into her thoughts. 

She was hungering to sit there beside him, yet 
she dared not venture it. Her claptrap died down 
to a sad purling, and mirth possessed her as she said 
deprecatingly, “I don’t know just how to please 
you!” He was in a quandary whether he preferred 
most her music or her converse by the fireside; and 
his silence caused her to conclude that he was quite 
satisfied with her mode of entertainment. That the 


SUNNY SMILES 


107 


Spirit of Deviltry was in full possession of her, how¬ 
ever, was evidenced when in glancing through a 
music book she chanced upon a song which seemed 
to portray their present predicament. She ventured 
to sing him the words, with a soft sweetness and 
teasing emphasis: 

“In the gloaming, oh, my darling! when the lights 
are dim and low, 

And the quiet shadows falling, softly come— 
and—softly—go—” 

Singing the last words slowly, pointedly, she gazed 
at him in her laughter. She was aware that she was 
maddening him, for she saw his eyes gleaming upon 
her, two coals like the fire embers. Her hunger to 
sit beside him increased, but she sought a new selec¬ 
tion with which to tantalize him. Turning the 
pages noisily, she stopped at one in quick recogni¬ 
tion of its suitableness. She immediately began 
voicing it, gayly accentuating its significant words 
as before—breathing it softly and sweetly, and gaz¬ 
ing at him with eyes ashine: 

“Thou, thou reignst in this bosom, 

There, there hast thou thy throne, 

Thou, thou knowst that I love thee, 

Am I not fondly thine own ? 

Yes, yes, yes, yes, am I not fondly thine own?” 

“Freda!” He arose toward her, his voice com¬ 
ing to her across that dimness, his tone tense, low 


io8 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


and compelling. She could no longer resist him, and 
her eyes sparkled with undisguised hunger as she 
arose gracefully and advanced to meet him, her 
countenance flitted by nervous smiles and the fire 
shadows. He stood waiting with his tense arms 
passionately outstretched to enclasp her, but as she 
approached him she murmured: 

“You must be seated— please.” 

She laughed in protesting stifled merriment as his 
arms nevertheless closed about her. He forced her 
head back and pressed his lips ardently to hers as 
if he would taste the honey of her song or would 
drink the very nectar of her soul. On her part, 
Freda felt steeped in a rapturous darkness which 
had in it all that wonderful sensing of “home,” that 
strange wondrous finality to which one’s substance 
seems ever outreaching. 

His arms seemed endowed with Samsonian 
strength as he snuggled her to him in that crushing 
embrace. Though her mind was steeped in love 
darkness, she subconsciously sensed the warmth of 
him suffuse her until it seemed quite as if her soul 
were blending with his. Released from the smother¬ 
ing caress, she poised an instant with head thrown 
back upon his arm and looked up studiously at him, 
at the trembling lips and the disheveled black locks. 
But principally she peered into his eyes that were 
brilliant with the flickering firelight and his devour¬ 
ing fondness. 

“You seem to worship me!” 


SUNNY SMILES 


109 


“Worship you? Madly, my angel!” he breathed, 
a twinkle in his eye as he murmured, u My heaven- 
born woman!” He crushed her to him more 
tightly and his face was imbued with a deeper love 
as he fervidly unburdened his soul. “When you 
walked to me just now, Freda, with that inherent 
grace and your gorgeous beauty, you appeared so 
like my dream-woman, like the phantom-woman of 
my soul, builded like her of the magic of the uni¬ 
verse, the sun’s gold in your locks and dress, 
heaven’s azure in your eyes, flames of sunset in your 
lips. And now you are sprinkled with the rain¬ 
bow’s iridescence in this firelight—you are my 
woman incomparable, a breath of paradise!” 

Freda, her head cradled in his arm, gazed up 
at him again, her face wreathed in blushes and 
smiles. His impassioned affection seemed to her so 
unanimal, so distinctly of his soul. Releasing her, 
he motioned her to a seat beside him, he retaining 
her hand as they gazed pensively into the firelight. 

“I suppose,” he pursued presently, “that every 
young fellow grows up with a dream-woman hidden 
away in his soul—then some day he accepts the 
material, far less favored woman as a sort of com¬ 
promise, even as I did.” A spasm of resentment 
traversed him. His eyes twinkled again, as he de¬ 
clared, “I’ve long had a passion for sculpture, but 
I was never prescient of this, to have my perfect 
statue come to life, my own Galatea! My marble 
goddess is truly suffused with warmth. But, alas, 


iio WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


Freda—you, my honeyed woman of all eternity, 
have come to me too late. I—I am Faust and thou 
art my Marguerite.” 

He bent his gaze steadfastly into the flames. He 
perhaps fancied there that beautiful houri of his 
soul, the angel of Elysium promised him. He had 
faith that this young woman leaning against him 
w r as her incarnated, earth-born reality. Yet he 
visualized there in the curling flames his Satanic 
Majesty, laughing at him, capering in mirthful de¬ 
rision of him. 

The physician’s Sunday-schooling during his ado¬ 
lescence had made him a devout believer in animism, 
in the existence of a separate soul and a spiritual 
heaven. By nature he was a fatalist, and accepted 
life as it befell him. As yet alcohol had not awak¬ 
ened in him the cunningness to study out successful 
ways to adjust his life to his wishes. Though as¬ 
sured in this moment that this was the woman prop¬ 
erly predestined to him, he was convinced he must 
lose her simply because he had erred and bound him¬ 
self to a woman unsuited to him. The palpable in¬ 
justice of man’s laws, however, swept the salt tears 
of anger into his eyes. 

Freda was covertly watching him as he sat 
transfixed in that fire-gazing. She comprehended, 
of course, the symbolic significance of “Marguer¬ 
ite,” the Devil’s lure for entrapping men’s souls, 
and she wondered what were the thoughts deep 
down in her lover’s heart. She feasted fondly upon 


SUNNY SMILES in 

his countenance, but when she saw the tears she 
exclaimed: 

“Oh, now I have upset you!” 

“No, no. I am more happy, Freda, than I ever 
hoped to be.” He gently pressed his lips to her 
warm cheek. “When you speak to me, Freda,” he 
asserted, “I seem to hear the voices of all women. 
To me you are the choicest essence of womankind. 
Perhaps I can best express it by having you think of 
man as being multifold like the grains of sand that 
as one complete entity of beach woo the sea; the 
drop that laps a single pebble is the whole ocean to 
that fragment of stone, and just so are you the en¬ 
tire sea of femininity to me.” 

Her eyes were ravished and her face quivered 
with affection as she leaned fondly against him. 
She languidly bantered, “I think we would get much 
involved if we pursued your comparison of sea and 
woman very far; for instance, no single drop is 
able to possess herself of the pebble, which is 
woman’s inmost wish; because the poor drop would 
evaporate speedily into nothingness or be drawn 
back into the sea, while the pebble would enjoy a 
long serene life until worn out by the kisses of many 
drops. But perhaps Mistress Drop would form 
again and find other loves, legions of them. . . 

She was treading quicksand and he interrupted 
her by repeating his avowal: “You are all women 
to me, nevertheless!” He reflected a moment, then 
gently held her head back as he gazed raptly. 


112 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


“There is another fancy of the sea in my mind. 
Those orbs of my Freda, so black in this dimness, 
yet filled with sparkles of the firelight, are the bea¬ 
cons of your soul to me. Like the lamp-set win¬ 
dows of the mothers of mariners, they are beckon¬ 
ing me to my lost heritage, back to my sweet 
amour of the past ages, to the companion of my now 
forgotten innumerable incarnations—to the one 
woman who I feel assured has been and will be 
mine through all eternity. I wonder shall I ever 
be able to read the full mystery of those orbs? In 
them is the dark of the eternal night and the star¬ 
light, and methinks they are calling me to go away 
with you into the universal vastness to live per¬ 
haps some strange, beautiful life.” 

“If I took your words literally, I should be a bit 
afraid of you,” she laughed. She gazed at him in¬ 
quisitively, her eyes chariots of Eros burdened with 
love for him. Was he, unknown to himself, merely 
indulging in a momentary infatuation; would his 
fine phrases dissipate like rainbows? She dispelled 
the thought. It was patent that he was not an 
average man. The doctor was plainly superior, 
a man of the better kind, a savant, a dispeller of 
pain, following in the path of the Great Healer who 
had made the lame to walk, the blind to see, the 
blighted cured. Human though he was, she knew 
she could trust him. 

And he of all men was hers if she desired, was 
her realization. She felt a deep responsiveness. 
Overcome by her emotion she turned and buried 


SUNNY SMILES 


113 

her face in his bosom, raising her arm over his 
shoulder, incidentally obstructing his fire-gazing but 
quite enrapturing him. Tears burned her eyes—it 
was all too wonderful to her. She became aware 
that she had fallen in love with him. 

Aye, they were both animated by the same emo¬ 
tion, that tremendous hunger of love and sex to 
merge into the very souls of each other, that all- 
powerful sensation of the spirit that is so ably sug¬ 
gested by the two curled nude figures hewn in the 
rock clump upheld by Rodin’s mighty Hand of God, 
except that here, when Freda mischievously pressed 
her lips to his, it was the man who impulsively en¬ 
clasped the woman, their lips together and Freda’s 
arm upraised about his neck. She was wholly trans¬ 
ported by her possession of this undreamed-of 
man who was feeding upon her soul-fires, smother¬ 
ing her—until, suffocated and laughing, she forced 
her face from him. 

Gazing a moment into the fire, she questioned, 
“And will you come and be with me often?” 

The doctor, staring likewise into the flames, re¬ 
plied heavily, “I couldn’t stay away.” He felt the 
spasmodic little grip she gave his arm. He was 
wondering what would be the outcome of these 
visits—was it foreshadowed by the fate of the youth 
Leander, who swam nightly across the Hellespont 
to his adorable Hero, lovely young priestess of 
Venus, until the fatal storm arose one night and 
strangled him in its raging billows—ah, the horror 
of that white body floating there in the sea, tossed 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


114 

weirdly by the tempestuous waves! The doctor 
wondered was he to suffer some similar fate? 
Would there be an angry sea of humanity rise up to 
wreak vengeance upon him? 

But Freda was in a different mood. She played 
with a button on his coat, summoning her courage. 
She cajoled, “And are you sure you want me, that 
you won’t mind buying me finery? I’m pretty ex¬ 
pensive !” 

The hot fervor of his swift caress almost stung 
her cheek as he breathed, “All—utterly, Freda! 
And I guess we can foot that bill,” he jollied, with 
an amused smile. “I fear I couldn’t refuse to de¬ 
vote my whole wealth and substance to so incom¬ 
parable a young lady!” 

“You dearest of dears!” she breathed, pinching 
his cheek. But her glowing eyes betrayed a nervous 
timidity as she ventured to add, “I was reading that 
Omar’s Rubaiyat, and there’s one passage has clung 
to my memory. It says: T made a second mar¬ 
riage in my House, divorced old barren Reason 
from my bed, and took the Daughter of the Vine to 
spouse’—now, don't you take the Daughter of the 
Vine, Princess Alcohol—but take just—me!” She 
clung to him in hopeful pleading. 

He sensed himself instantly converted by her 
words in his whole attitude toward John Barley¬ 
corn. His Freda would be his harbor of rest and 
recuperation, and henceforth he would have no need 
for the demon. He gripped her arm crushingly un¬ 
der the powerful stimulus of this thought. “You 


SUNNY SMILES 115 

are a treasure, Freda; you don’t realize what you 
mean to me!” 

“Methinks you are a primordial bear-man, the 
way you seek to crush me,” she commented in laugh¬ 
ter, as she reluctantly untwined his bruising fingers 
from her arm. She glanced at her wall clock and 
murmured merrily, “I think some one will be fear¬ 
ing you are injured—I know were you my hubby 
I should surely be thinking something dreadful had 
happened to you were you staying away from me 
till this late hour of night.” 

He arose and in a few seconds that seemed eons 
of eternity to him she fetched his wraps. Then the 
firelight flickered upon his dark figure as he enfolded 
her to him for a moment. Into her ear he breathed 
some brief promises and adieus, ere he departed— 
in the cab of his waiting, sleepy taxi-man. The 
chimera! A secure structure of redemption cannot 
be founded upon phantasmal rotten rock. 

Freda, a few minutes later, having mounted the 
stairs and gained her own bedchamber, paused re¬ 
flectively just beyond the doorsill an instant, her 
eyes straying about the room in pensive scrutiny of 
its details, her somewhat fatigued nerves thrilled 
by strange, joyous emotions. Brilliant in the elec¬ 
tric radiance was this room and light and airy in 
its soft, pretty colors. 

It is to be feared that a black soul hungers for 
external whiteness as strongly as a negress who 
powders herself into a semblance of her fair mis¬ 
tress. As Freda stood contemplating her posses- 



116 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


sions in this moment, she realized how forcefully un- 
symbolic of this budding impurity of her heart was 
the ivory whiteness of her bedchamber. But Freda’s 
heart was not black. She could not resist reflect¬ 
ing upon that doubleness of her bed, significant to 
her of its emptiness and loneliness, a condition 
which must continue as the paradoxical reward of 
this life that would be so replete with the love of a 
man, yet so truly devoid of his companionship in 
those sacred hours when the soul most needs a com¬ 
panion as it commends itself to God in the mystery 
of slumber. 

She was standing alone thus scarcely an instant 
ere she heard a not unexpected tread upon the stairs. 
Her mother had returned. In a few seconds that 
person came bustling in. 

“Mother, dear,” exclaimed the younger in wel¬ 
come, her countenance radiant. 

“Plague take these dark streets!” grumbled Mrs. 
Warner by way of greeting. She had a bit of ma¬ 
turity’s fleshiness but enjoyed a certain vim and vi¬ 
vacity that made her notable and attractive. She 
stood moderately tall, and her hair was of an arti¬ 
ficial golden brown, her costume a la mode but not 
extreme. 

“Well, daughter, you seem strangely happy,” she 
commented genially, “Do you like your new 
friend?” a bit of sarcasm in her voice. 

“Oh, mother, he is the most wonderful man 
ever!” Freda stood poised unconsciously in an ex¬ 
quisite attitude of breathlessness as she continued, 


SUNNY SMILES 117 

t 

“He has the soul of an artist—you just can’t 
imagine what treasures of mind he possesses!” 

“Well, they may bring him gold,” the parent 
agreed wryly, “but that won’t feed you or me— 
unless you get the gold!” she laughed merrily. 
“But tell me, how does he like youT } 

Freda whirled on one foot in an abandonment of 
happiness, crying, “Oh, his eyes grow hungrier and 
hungrier for me every minute! He has the mad¬ 
ness in him!” Instantly, the young woman bit her 
lip in regret of her words. She exclaimed, “A few 
days ago he was a saint immaculate, inapproach¬ 
able; that hypocritical Judge Harmon was as much 
his undoing as I—and I don’t like that phase of it 
at all!” 

“Tush, tush! daughter dear; you are too excit¬ 
able. Practice moderation—in all things; you have 
heard that the fire that burns slowly burns long¬ 
est,” the elder one admonished, though laughing at 
this iniquity of that judicial nemesis. “So the 
finest of them have their inherent evil,” she com¬ 
mented. “With some vocation, with them avoca¬ 
tion.” Observing her daughter frowning, she con¬ 
tinued cheerily: 

“Edmunde Hildebrande was here looking for 
you. He brought those flowers that are in the par¬ 
lor vase; he wanted to take you to the opera 
‘Faust.’ ” 

“What—to ‘Faust’?” breathed Freda, her face 
brightening then clouding as she recollected the 
doctor’s words comparing her to Marguerite. She 


118 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


quite unconsciously began humming a tune from the 
opera. 

“Yes,” iterated the mother. “He wanted to 
wait; but, of course, I knew you were coming home 
early in expectation of meeting some one else, so 
I couldn’t let him. Poor fellow! he seems mad 
over you.” The mother laughed. 

“Oh, that boor and beggar, I don’t want ever to 
see him any more,” asserted Freda, her eyes flash¬ 
ing. 

“Hush, don’t be absurd!” cried the elder one. 
“You know you must marry.” 

Tears sprang into Freda’s eyes and she averted 
her face in hot anger—in misery. 

“No, my dear, you mustn’t be absurd now,” pur¬ 
sued the mother, patting her daughter's shoulder. 
“You must obey me; you owe everything to me— 
your music, your culture, your tact with the men, 
everything!” 

Freda’s eyes flashed fire as she unleashed her 
wrath. “Father would have given me an education, 
and without any such string to it!” she retorted. 

“Thank goodness, your father isn’t here. Men 
are useful only for earning money. When they 
hang around and bore you, they’re a nuisance!” 
Despite her philosophy, the speaker swallowed a 
lump in her throat. 

Freda wrung her hands heavenward, her features 
distorted with grief, as she cried, “We were born 
free to live and mate as we choose, subject to no 
restraints and beholden to no one! What you’ve 


SUNNY SMILES 119 

done for me was done for you!” She broke into 
sobbing. 

The mother forcibly drew that golden brow to 
her bosom, to that harbor of eternal comfort, as 
she murmured, “There, there, Fredie dear, this is 
astounding, but you shall have your wish. It is the 
great magic glamour of love in your veins. It’s the 
wonderful thing that comes at least once to most 
of us.” She leaned closer and whispered into the 
pretty ear, “You are in love!” She paused for 
effect, then cajoled, “You are my daughter, and 
you shall experience the joys of life. But love is 
a fleeting thing, and a betrayer—you will have to 
be very cautious. 

“You feel sure of this love now, but you’ll get 
over it—it’s a soul-dream, a delusion! I have ex¬ 
perienced it and it puffs out like a soap bubble! 
Now, don’t be a little fool, and don’t get on the 
outs with me, your provider!” Into her maternal 
eyes crept a little avaricious gleam as she coaxed 
gently, “Is he really very rich?” 

The daughter withdrew disdainfully and moved 
toward her dresser. “I’ve told you he has the most 
wonderful art collection I’ve ever seen in any home 
—though I haven’t exactly invaded Fifth Avenue 
yet,” she snapped in sarcasm. 

The parent bent forward, a humorous light in 
her eyes as she said suggestively: 

“Then why don’t you get him to divorce his wife 
—and marry you! Others have accomplished it. 
Nothing is impossible to one with sufficient wit and 



i2o WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


brass, and you seem to have plenty of the latter,” 
she ended in rebuke. 

“I’m tired, and I’m going to bed,” said Freda, as 
a conclusion to this irritating conversation. 

“Very well, good night,” spoke the mater, as she 
bustled away to enjoy a cup of tea before making 
her own slumber preparations. 

Freda’s unhappy thoughts brought a catch to her 
throat, but with the gathering strength of inurement 
and a toss of her head she stifled her unpleasant 
emotions, and gazed with wilful merriment at her 
beautiful reflections, whilst she began unfastening 
her clothes. In this solitude there swept back upon 
her remembrances of the doctor; the spell of the 
man gripped her powerfully. In that secret cache 
of womankind, her bodice, she disclosed her hand¬ 
kerchief, which she customarily tossed into a pale 
satiny bag appended to a mirror post; through force 
of habit she started it for its goal, but, a thought in¬ 
spiring her, she stayed her hand halfway, then drew 
the lacey thing passionately to her lips—his kisses 
were upon it! Anon, with a short laugh, she as 
impulsively flung the scrap of needlework into the 
repository. 

She withdrew her gem-studded amber hair combs, 
let her hair down and began combing out the golden 
shower. Perhaps its electric titillations enhanced 
the summery glow which suffused and permeated 
her, for as she bent to her task she resensed with 
multifold vividness the physician’s worship of her. 
Self-consciousness seized her. A smile of self- 


SUNNY SMILES 


121 


appraisement flitted upon her lips until it was ques¬ 
tionable which she was learning to love most, her¬ 
self or the doctor. In her tremulous thrills her 
comb escaped from her dainty fingers, and when she 
arose from retrieving it from the soft-textured rug 
her garments had fallen away from her shoulders in 
such fashion that she looked not unlike Thumann’s 
portrait of Lachesis. Gazing at her beauty mysti¬ 
cally reflected in the glass, she was thrilled with a 
still greater ecstasy in noting the living picture she 
made. 

Womanlike, she enjoyed a veritable furore of 
amour propre! His Galatea! his Venus dei 
Medici! Oh, she wished he was truly an artist, a 
painter of canvases, that he could immortalize her! 

She tossed her golden locks backward and began 
recombing them. How different indeed, she medi¬ 
tated, were the doctor’s classical words from the 
lip-drippings of the average man, the indulgers in 
tobacco smoke, big dinners and wines. Nay, even 
upon the doctor’s lips, she remembered, was that 
bouquet of liquor. She paused and gazed pensively. 
Was he sinking into a pitfall, and through love of 
her? Truly had he need of her. Instinctively she 
felt a craving to go to him, the motherly passion to 
protect him, the watchful guardianship that is a 
large factor in woman’s love. Reflection upon that 
nocturnal scene in his office when he had exhibited 
ferocity under the stimulus of liquor caused her to 
purse her lips dubiously. It was her substance he 
had wanted. Was that all this beauty was good 


122 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


for, to arouse evil? Was it the Devil’s bait? 
Marguerite verily! The resplendency of the pea¬ 
cock aspread; surely its beauty had an intrinsic 
value, as just glorious beauty! And assuredly 
her Sidney esteemed her beauty for its esthetic 
values. 

She stared at her reflected self in fascination. 
She recalled his little fantasy, written on the fly-leaf 
of his Omar Khayyam, the story of a heaven-born 
invisible seraphic spirit that had come to view the 
earth in its infancy, and had been contemplating in 
only semi-satisfaction the divinely created verdure 
and flowers of Eden, until his prospect was dis¬ 
turbed by the parting of some greenery and the ap¬ 
pearance of Eve walking gracefully in her fair 
skinned, leaf attired loveliness—then had the 
seraph drawn a quick breath and vowed that in 
creating this beauteous detached flower of the earth 
God had indeed wrought a miracle! 

She further recollected the doctor’s speaking la- 
mentingly, “My detached blossom of paradise— 
thou art so perishable!” She laughed happily in 
remembering his fervid breathings. And as she 
scrutinized in the mirrors this soft white growth of 
the earth, the spirit of mischief set her eyes to 
twinkling. She drew in closer to the polished cen¬ 
ter mirror, seized her stick of rouge and gayly 
painted upon her right cheek the likeness of his lips’ 
imprint, upon that identical spot where he had most 
frequently and hungrily kissed her; she sensed 
his wraith crowding close there, felt the spot burn 


SUNNY SMILES 


123 


beneath the painted kiss, and it thrilled her with 
laughter and warmth. 

The rouge was but a minor accessory to her 
toilet; she considered painted women but living 
shams and was very glad that she had no need of 
such artifice except upon the days when she was 
fatigued or indisposed; then it became her necessity. 
She was pleased in playing gayly thus with it now. 
Aye, was she not her own great toy! her garments, 
her jewels, her hair and her features merely price¬ 
less playthings! After removing the painted kiss, 
she set to rearranging her hair in many different 
ways to discover if she could enhance her loveliness. 
Meanwhile her thoughts kept tripping lightly over 
those treasured hours with the doctor. 

Then something of the trend of the doctor’s own 
thoughts crept stealthily into her mind—the pal¬ 
pable sorrow of their fate. They had found each 
other—but was it not only to realize that they must 
live apart for evermore? No, no, it must not be! 
Like the wind-gusts of an incipient storm little tre¬ 
mors of grief aroused within her, chased the smiles 
from her lips. Her whole soul protested. In her 
growing hysteria she staggered away from her mir¬ 
ror with head bent, her soul engulfed in fierce grief. 
She instantly lifted her face, her hands clasped, her 
entire substance uniting in her savage cry, “O God! 
have mercy on me!” Tottering, she flung herself 
headlong upon her bed and there fell into a pitiful 
fit of weeping. In the midst of it she frenziedly 
searched in her soul-dark for some way out of this 


124 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


dilemma. And there quickly came clearly into her 
mind the means she desired, what her mother had 
prompted—she would go to her Sidney and urge it 
upon him—he must divorce! She could see that 
clearly and decisively. 

Just so was Doctor Rumford’s fate decided for 
him. 


CHAPTER VI 


INTERFERENCE 

I N the afternoon of the following day Judge 
Harmon was to be seen approaching along 
the street fronting Doctor Rumford’s house. 
He was walking with that jerky nervousness habitual 
to those apoplectic individuals who keep themselves 
constantly in a state of semi-intoxication. His 
meditations upon legal and other momentous mat¬ 
ters, however, were unexpectedly arrested by a 
cheerily spoken: 

“Good morning, Judge!” 

He looked up with an annoyed glitter in his eyes, 
but his face broadened into a wide smile as he es¬ 
pied the middle-aged woman addressing him. 

“Well, Mrs. Ruband, you’re looking fine!” he 
complimented. His geniality was rather forced un¬ 
til his glance, sweeping the good woman’s house¬ 
wifely figure and her neat raven hair, paused in a 
twinkle of response to her merry black eyes. 

Mrs. Ruband evaded his compliment by interro¬ 
gating, “Are you bound for the doctor’s office? I 
myself was just thinking of going in to see Mrs. 
Rumford. You know, we have become great 
friends.” She laughed lightly. 

“Yes; so Professor Turner told me. A most ex- 

126 


126 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


cellent woman, he says.” The jurist accorded Mrs. 
Ruband his most fetching smile. 

“Oh, you can’t imagine, Judge, what a fine woman 
she is—in her way. Why, she is completely 
wrapped up in her motherhood; she just lives for 
her babies!” 

“Quite as it should be, don’t you think, Mrs. 
Ruband?” commented Harmon, with an augmented 
twinkle. 

“Oh, I’m not so sure. But so long as he’s good 
to her, and they can afford it—and she is satisfied, 
why, so let it be!” the woman laughed merrily. 

Abashed, however, by Judge Harmon’s ceaseless 
ogling of her, Mrs. Ruband shifted her gaze to the 
Rumford dwelling. A move which so hurt the jur¬ 
ist’s vanity as to throw him into dejection. He 
likewise turned his gaze toward the physician’s resi¬ 
dence. The house was of creamy brick and was 
set back of some fifty feet of bush and lawn, the 
latter newly arranged under the doctor’s supervi¬ 
sion and already showing signs of awakening 
spring. The house facade was many-windowed, the 
laterally gabled roof was red-tiled, and a spacious 
veranda, done in white, extended the full length of 
the front and down the left side to a door admit¬ 
ting to the dining-room. Adorning the trellises 
were awakening Chinese wistaria, clematis and 
climbing roses; these were also upon the white pil¬ 
lars. Somber cedars, firs, spruce, and other ever¬ 
greens, of varied heights and shapes, already lent 
druidical and fantastic beauty to the frontage. 


INTERFERENCE 


127 


The judge also identified the stately magnolia, the 
snowball, the rhododendron. Everything showed 
the same perfection of detail and ensemble as did 
that inner castle-chamber of the physician. Har¬ 
mon was something of a floriculturist himself, and 
his nostrils dilated as he inhaled in imagination the 
perfumes that would waft from this Edenic garden 
in summertime. 

“What an artist that man is!” grunted he, dis¬ 
tracted from his erstwhile mood. He gazed en- 
raptly, astonished. “Why, he has a better home 
than I have!” He laughed with a twinge of dis- 
gruntlement. 

“Not quite, Judge,” Mrs. Ruband smiled. 

“Oh, I 1 m glad of it; the man’s a genius, and we’re 
all deeply gratified to have him here among us. 
Good men are scarcer than pearls in oysters—don’t 
you think so?” 

“Oh, I think there’s some good in the worst of 
us,” she dissented, smiling. 

“And a plethora of evil!” he snapped. He set¬ 
tled his gaze anew upon this Arcadian mansion. 
He waxed wroth and gave further vent to his alco¬ 
holic acrimony. “That man has too much! To 
be given all this, and a spirit of genius, and a most 
excellent wife, and bright children—I hold it’s too 
much happiness for any one man to attain! It’s 
the gift of God, Mrs. Ruband! The guerdon of 
unflinching, unremitted toil! He’ll make a most 
worthy citizen, a boon to our society.” Then, pre¬ 
paring to make his way into that selfsame domicile, 



128 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


he questioned, “Er—has anyone gone in lately?” 

Mrs. Ruband had been gazing up and down the 
tree-lined thoroughfare to see if any of her neigh¬ 
bors were noting her chat with this grandiose man. 
“Why, let me see . . releasing her words with 
a meditative smack, “—none, except a young miss.” 

“Golden-haired?” he questioned sourly. 

“Yes.” 

“Umph!—you coming along in?” His eyes 
twinkled. 

“Not yet, Judge. I have a little errand first that 
will take a few seconds.” 

“Well, au revoir, then.” He tossed his hand; 
and still hesitated with a flushed hungry smile, 
awaiting her response. 

“Good day, Judge.” She laughed nervously. 

So they parted. 

The pompous jurist wended his way along, with 
that inebriate strutting suggestive of a German sol¬ 
dier’s rhythmic knee-lifting goose-step. Reaching 
the door on the porch, he absent-mindedly neglected 
to ring but entered with scarcely a sound. Nor 
did the heavily padded dragon rug make any sound 
under his tread. Judge Harmon was deep within 
the chamber and was preparing to seat himself, 
when certain words from the examination cham¬ 
ber nearby startled his consciousness. He strug¬ 
gled with unbelief, was gripped with chills of con¬ 
sternation—then was whipped up into a rage! 

“But Sidney, dear, I’m sure we will be happy. 
Fate meant us for each other. You want life in 


INTERFERENCE 


129 


your mate—some one that understands you, that 
can make you happy. I have made you happy, 
haven’t I, dear?” 

“Yes! Undoubtedly,” came the slow response, 
as from the depths of the man’s soul. 

“Oh, I knew it! Oh, I must have you, Sidney, 
dear! I must! I must! And to live out our lives 
together after all! Just think, won’t it be wonder¬ 
ful!” The words were spoken softly, but with the 
wildness of an overmastering emotion. “And you 
can accomplish it all so easily, dear. You can go to 
Reno.” The jurist was thinking of a place where 
he would like to consign her. “Come, look at me 
—when you are free, I can come out there to you; 
no one will ever know—and you will be mine! All 
mine! And I yours!” Her voice faltered, then 
sounded again in extravagant fervor, “My won¬ 
drous Sidney!” It was pitifully plain that Freda 
had lost control of herself. 

There was a further rustle as of crushed silken 
garments, a smothered laugh and the soft purring 
release of a kiss, then a heavy breathing of, “You 
are a most glorious woman, Freda!” 

“And you will really do it all, dear?” 

A pause and then weightily, “I—guess—so.” 

“Oh, I’m so glad. . . .” 

“I know I need you, Freda! Truly you were 
meant for me. You are the most beautiful woman 
that ever came into my life. And you please me 
so—God knows, I must have you!” Followed 
briefly in half-smothered articulation further artistic 


1 3 o WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


phrases, in an incoherence befitting the emotion, but 
most of which Judge Harmon did not catch. 

For the countenance of the magisterial eavesdrop¬ 
per was distorted, waning and waxing from white 
to purple, wrath flaming in his eyes until they darted 
shafts of fire. With his hands gripping the chair, 
he poised undecided. The door opened, the judge 
arose, two masculine forms moved toward each 
other—and Doctor Sidney Rumford stared into the 
glazed eyes of his mortal enemy. 

Judge Harmon leaped at him with the fury of a 
rabid wolf. “So, you unconscionable scoundrel! 
This is the height of you, eh? This, the guerdon 
of your wife’s love and dutiful suffering!—you 
damnable adulterer!” 

The doctor shrank back, Freda behind him, both 
staring, transfixed. 

The judge swung his fist menacingly at them, and 
roared, “You ignoble whelp! I’ll have you tarred 
and feathered! I’ll have you rail-ridden and 
strung!” He was fairly frothing. 

Doctor Rumford’s legs trembled beneath him; a 
sense of guilt is the most vanquishing adversary. 
His voice was mute. He perceived his whole dream 
world slipping from him like a volcanic isle sub¬ 
merging. His first impulse was to seek to pacify, 
but the uselessness of such procedure was patent. 
He simply stood and stared fixedly. 

Poised for a spring the judge held them in ter- 
rorem as he thundered, “Your wife’s too good for 
you, Rumford, you hypocrite! Your idealism— 


INTERFERENCE 


131 

bah! So you’ve made this vile woman your fetish, 
eh! Well, let me tell you, my fine man, when you 
start your divorcement it will go hard with you! 
If I get either of you into my clutches, I will give 
you time to think upon your ways!” 

“Sir!” rang out Doctor Rumford’s voice, “you 
forget you are in my house!” 

“You’re a rascal, Rumford! Don’t talk to me 
—you’re too contemptible! Faugh, that I should 
make such a hideous error! To take such as you 
for a man! As for you, young lady,” he waxed 
wroth again, shaking his finger at Freda, “you had 
better go home, get on your knees and pray God to 
save your soul—you hell creature!” This last in 
response to her sneering smile. He started toward 
the street door. “I don’t want to see you ever 
again, Rumford! And don’t put your foot near my 
house, sir! The very breath of you contaminates 
me, and I wouldn’t have you be near my wife or 
my children!” From the door-sill he snarled back, 
“Leave our town! Get out! Before something 
happens to you!” He slammed the door behind 
him. 

“The beast!” uttered Freda. In gentle compas¬ 
sion she attempted to draw down the physician’s 
hand that had involuntarily gone to his heated brow. 
“Come, dear, don’t let him annoy you; what can he 
do to you—to us?” 

Doctor Rumford brushed her hand down and 
strode forward into the parlor—nay; staggered, 
rather, in an engulfing Hades. It was the burst- 



I 3 2 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


ing of his bubble, the complete shatterment of all 
his dreams! For his years of toil—his reaping was 
to be disgrace, ignominy! If nothing more serious 
happened—and he had no such assurance—it was 
inevitable that this higher patronage which the judge 
controlled, and all that it proffered was lost. Har¬ 
mon, implacable and malignant, would see to that. 
There could be no starting anew. Ignominy pur¬ 
sues; it is a green vapor that acquires ubiquity; he 
desired world-wide fame, and ever would this scan¬ 
dal rise up to thwart him. Aye, gone forever, 
through this foolishness, was his opportunity to 
achieve his dreams. The superior men and women 
would denounce him, superior man though he was. 
His soul quivered. 

Immutable also is the Almighty’s will. With his 
every fibre clutched by a fearful grief, the doctor 
raised his trembling hands heavenward, beseeching 
with his every atom forgiveness from the God he 
had been so ready to disobey. Swept over him 
swiftly comprehension of the inflexibility of that 
will, of the utter futility of his prayers—in that 
same instant he conceived a frenzied antagonism for 
that will—to everything mundane or universal! 
He swayed in a grief that was filled with diabolical 
rage, his eyes aglow with fiendish resentment. 
Freda crept close and timorously placed her hand 
upon his arm. 

“Don’t take it so hard, dear.” 

“Oh, please go from me!” he commanded, his 
mind distraught, his reason upset by this catastro- 


INTERFERENCE 


133 


phe. A curse quivered upon his lips, but he re¬ 
pressed it as he moaned, “Oh, why did you come to 
me, Freda! Why did you bring this ruin upon 
me!” He espied a little smile curl her lips and his 
eyes blazed. “You viperess! Good God! you a 
fiendish schemer, and I thought so much of you! 
Ah, I can see through your wiles now! You 
lured me to drink, you led me into this step by step, 
you and that hell hound that just went out of here 
—ah, merciful God, what a fool Eve been!” His 
voice broke and he sobbed despairingly. He sat 
upon the heavy arm of his study chair, and bowing 
into his arms upon the back of it, wept brokenly. 

“Oh, Sidney, dear—don’t—please don’t!” She 
placed her hands tenderly upon him again, although 
her own being was quivering from the hurt of it all. 

“Listen, Freda! Please go from me—before 
I heap vileness upon you!” He rose, his eyes 
glowering upon her with inexorable fire—with re¬ 
vulsion. 

Her face shot crimson, her flesh traversed by con¬ 
flicting emotions. 

“Please, dear; everything will be all right—and 
you know you do not mean what you say. I am all 
that you thought me when you thought good of 
me. He is not everybody.” 

“You don’t know what you are talking about!” 
Doctor Rumford snarled at her. “My affairs are 
not your affairs, anyway. You don’t seem to com¬ 
prehend the enormity of what you have done!” 

“Oh, Sidney,” she blazed, “you shouldn’t have 




134 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


let him insult you that way! You aren’t any weak¬ 
ling—you have a fine body. Oh, why didn’t you 
use it? And there is your art hero,” she scoffed, 
pointing to the valiant combatant centering the gold¬ 
framed painting, Knaus’s “Quarrel,” “why weren’t 
you a man like him!” She stared at her companion 
a moment, her heart bleeding with sorrow for it all. 
“Who is that judge, anyhow? He’s no better than 
the rest of us; it’s the little drink in him that is 
doing this sophistic prating about virtue. He 
doesn’t look so very angelic, but more as if he’d 
sowed his own wild oats pretty well. It’s these 
sophisticated ones that are so quick to suspect evil!” 

“Please go, Freda. I couldn’t stand you near 
me after this,” the doctor insisted, constraining his 
speech though rent body and soul. 

“Very well, dear,” she acquiesced. Though re¬ 
luctant to wound him she added, “I thought that at 
last I had met a man, but I see that I am mistaken!” 
She swept toward the door, paused there a second— 
glancing back at him and laughing nervously. 
Womanlike, she did not believe the world was to 
be upset by a little quarrel. Her eyes shone with 
fascination, with heart-filled love for him. What 
a man of spirit he was, she concluded, fighting madly 
thus for the right—even from this Stygian engulf- 
ment! 

That moment before when Judge Harmon, his 
mind beset by the Furies, had rushed from that same 
door and was thumping down the path, he encoun- 


INTERFERENCE 


135 


tered Mrs. Ruband. The judicial countenance, 
however, was so infuriate that the lady recoiled 
from him in consternation. 

“Why, Judge, what is the matter! What has 
happened?” 

Harmon sought to speak, but was choked. His 
eyes flashed; wagging his head he sought to swallow 
his gorge, but all he could vociferate was, “That 
damnable scoundrel!” 

“Profanity! Oh, what is the matter!” The 
housewifely mind was distraught. 

“Matter enough, woman! I’ve been bilked, 
humbugged! That dissembler in there—he’s a cur 
dog! A groveler to paint and corruption!—and 
that scurvy young minx—she’s a vampire ! A Jeze¬ 
bel!” 

“The girl—what! You don’t mean—” The 
good woman’s eyes widened in disbelief. 

“Yes, Mrs. Ruband, exactly!” 

“Oh, the vile little hussy! The low ruffian! 
Mercy on us!” The agitated woman paused a sec¬ 
ond to let this startling news sink into her, trying 
to grasp the enormity of it. The judge fidgeted, 
wagging from side to side like a caged animal, un¬ 
decided whether to stop any longer or proceed on 
his turbulent course. Mrs. Ruband spoke philo¬ 
sophically : 

“It’s always the way, Judge! And poor Mrs. 
Rumford such a good woman—oh, the sorrow of 
it!” 

“I tell you, Mrs. Ruband, I’ll make him rue the 




136 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


day he ever set foot in this town!” The judicial 
eyes flamed and glowered with the wrath of Erinys. 

Mrs. Ruband paled and swayed like a lost soul. 
“Oh, I can’t believe it true!” said she. “What 
is to be done?” 

Judge Harmon brushed past her, incidentally 
kicking up a stone viciously from his path, the only 
words audible to her from his throatings and 
mutterings, “That damned scamp! I’ll attend to 
him!” 

Mrs. Ruband stood watching him and meditated 
a moment. In her revulsion of feeling toward the 
physician there swept to her quite instantly an in¬ 
spiration, from that faculty for interference so 
dominantly developed in some of her deadlier sex. 
She decided instantly upon her course, assured of 
her rightness. In her mind was a project the enact¬ 
ment of which constitutes a violation of the Sixth 
Commandment in God’s sight, and was to prove 
productive of a direful aftermath. She sped in a 
nervous flutter up the path to the porch steps—and 
was confronted thereon by Freda, just coming out. 
The two women stared at each other, Mrs. Ruband 
recoiling in a blaze of irate repulsion, and Freda’s 
blanched face bearing a mirthful sneer. With a 
smothered, “Fy!” Mrs. Ruband shot past her and 
hurried helter-skelter back along the porch upon the 
left to the side-door giving ingress to the dining 
room. Freda walked serenely down that path pur¬ 
suing her way nonchalantly. The black-haired 
Mrs. Ruband was intent upon giving Mrs. Rumford 


INTERFERENCE 


137 


advice such as no woman should listen to, and within 
an hour she had fully accomplished her fell purpose. 

When Doctor Rumford was left alone in his of¬ 
fice chamber, he stood still, his senses reeling in 
black despair. In that enshrouding soul-darkness 
his being reached out into the infinitude, piteously 
seeking forgiveness of God. He sought some 
means of succor from this pit of hell into which he 
had fallen. He experienced remorse and over¬ 
whelming self-pity at his cwn folly. Anon, he felt 
anger at his enemies for bringing this ruin upon 
him, flared into diabolical rage as he reviewed the 
machinations of these evil-doers. They had come 
to him like wolves in sheep’s clothing and had rent 
his life asunder; she, Freda, had done it with a smile 
upon her lips—this false notion galled him most, 
was to remain ineffaceably imprinted upon his 
mind! 

It hurt him to think of his own weakness; tha: 
his years of contact with the world had left him still 
so gullible, so easy a prey to these hell-fiends. “Ah, 
God, why am I so weak!” He flung himself into 
his study chair and in the quiet of that deepening 
darkness leaned his brow upon his palms and sank 
into sobs that racked him body and soul. 

The call of his heritage gripped him. Fie de¬ 
cided that a glass of whiskey would lift this leaden 
sorrow. Mechanically turning on some of the 
lights he fetched the bottle and quaffed a dram. 
The bite of it awakened that fiendish thirst, where¬ 
fore he gulped another glassful and was preparing 


i 3 8 witchery of an oriental lamp 


to pour a third when an elderly lady entered the 
room. He turned his back to her, grimaced in the 
throating of this third glass—then condescended 
to proceed to attend upon her. His mind was not 
upon his work, however. The old lady was pat¬ 
ently amazed at what she had seen, if not indeed 
a little frightened at him, and it is to be feared she 
hurried somewhat in making her departure. 

The doctor had worked as an automaton and had 
scarcely noticed her. When she was gone, by aid of 
those lights which he had turned on ere proceeding 
to take the draughts of the Devil’s blood he now 
looked about him in bitterness. What mattered 
this rubbish? these magnificent possessions! He 
could willingly smash them all. But what grieved 
him most was that Freda should have proven to be 
a seducer. For had not the judge, that damnable 
Pharisee—termed her a siren, a sea-nymph, literally 
a man-hunter and destroyer? And in those initial 
hours whilst he, the doctor, and she, Freda, were 
looking at his treasures, had he not been fully aware 
then of what she was! Aye; it was the drink that 
had mastered him! He realized that he loved her; 
was that merely due to propinquity? Was no goal 
real of itself? Were all his ambitions simply will- 
o’-the-wisps? Were all his ambitions as unattain¬ 
able, simply mists, phantasms, delusions! Had he 
bettered his chances any by this folly? The truth 
smote him forcibly that he had not! 

The liquor maggots were squirming in his brain. 


INTERFERENCE 


139 


He went to the brown bottle and swallowed more of 
its contents, then locked the front door. Into his 
big chair he once more flung himself and buried 
his face in his hands. He felt an impulse to 
weep, a prompting that was quickly displaced by an 
impulse to cry out, to empty the vials of his wrath 
into the atmosphere. But as he glared into the 
dark, his emotions changed as suddenly, and his lips 
parted in a hoarse whisper of “Freda!” He was 
quite drunk. He felt weak and listless, animated 
solely by that maudlin commingled glow of anger 
and fondness, and he spoke aloud, brokenly, “That 
you, Freda, should have proven to be that kind! 
Oh, God pity me! why didn’t I see it before I came 
to have this feeling for you!” 

He paused, conjured up Freda before him and 
fell to studying her; he visualized her there vividly 
and studied her intensely as to what manner of 
woman she was, studied her beauty, her material 
loveliness, her personality, her feminine witchery— 
looked into vistas that he hitherto had permitted to 
be unknown or taboo to him. What had they done 
to bring on this ruin—to be threatened thus by that 
damnable hornet? Tar and feathers and railrid¬ 
ing, eh? Let them try such stunts! His gun was 
handy and he was a crack shot! But she had called 
him a “weakling”; his jaws hardened a little at this 
remembrance, though he forgave her. She was 
a woman, misguided perhaps, yet as rare a flower 
as ever had grown! A daughter of the gods, of 



1 4 o WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


beautiful and perfect mold and unfit for this wrong¬ 
doing. That he swore! He had betrayed her, he 
realized, even as he had permitted himself to be be¬ 
guiled. 

And this liquor, he remembered, Freda herself 
had asked him not to touch it. She was right! It 
was the Demon’s blood! Cursing it, he flung out 
his hand to crash the fragile brown container to 
the floor; his fingers grasped cold glass and there 
was a smash, but he found he had made a mistake 
and had destroyed an antique vase that had newly 
arrived and not yet been set away. Swaying a bit, 
he spurned the irised pieces with his foot as he stood 
up. These playthings, what good were they! He 
seized up the bottle, glad of its escape. This was 
a real plaything—something for which his soul and 
body long had craved. 

The doctor did not go out to his supper. Per¬ 
haps he did not want to face Luella while he was 
in this condition. Possibly it was not because of 
this shame, but because his antagonism toward her 
now had been intensified by King Alcohol. He 
turned out all the lights except one, then sat in his 
heavy chair and gave himself up to utter despair 
and to the wanton drinking of whiskey. He passed 
through a period of maundering upon his love and 
upon his hatreds, until the liquor overwhelmed him, 
soddened his soul and stupefied him; he slipped from 
the chair and lay upon the floor in an unconscious¬ 
ness that was almost a coma. 


INTERFERENCE 


141 

At a late hour there came a timid knocking at 
the inner door. The knocking was repeated sev¬ 
eral times, and as no response was made, the door 
was opened a little and the pretty dark-eyed house¬ 
maid peeped in. When she saw her master lying 
in that inert heap upon the floor she stood afraid. 
He was revealed solely by the dim radiance of the 
desk lamp. Above him the Oriental Bacchanalian 
seemed dancing his liveliest; high times were afoot; 
another disciple had been won to Bacchus! 

In gazing down upon her master the girl was 
shocked by the profundity of his stupor. She had 
come to summon him to the bedside of his suffering 
wife. The maid must return with a message that 
would make her mistress doubly afflicted. How 
quiet he lay, unprescient of the further ill in store 
for him. He lay too quiet! His burdens already 
had bent him; would this new happening break him? 

The maid was ashen and tremulous when she re¬ 
turned and gently opened the door of her mistress’s 
bedchamber to impart the news. Luella was moan¬ 
ing upon her pillow. She turned her head to the 
girl and asked in tense tone, “The Doctor—is he 
coming up?” 

“N-o,” the maid stammered. “Er—he is not 
well—I think he has been drinking!” 

“What’s that you say, Alice?” Mrs. Rumford 
looked at her sharply to see if she was in her senses. 
Then like the flood of a burst dam swept into her 
own mind a rush of incidents, of details of his de- 


142 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


portment and a certain fragrance clinging to him, 
which gave her immediate disillusionment. So he, 
after all, was like the other men, simply a beast of 
appetites, thirsts and indulgences. She had best 
keep this girl away from him. She would not be 
keeping her at all, she ruminated, were she not the 
cook’s daughter; and the portly Margaret was a 
good cook. What myriad thoughts traverse the 
mind in a few seconds! The maid, however, w r as 
beset by affectionate compassion and spoke volubly. 

“Please—madam, don’t let yourself get excited! 
He’s simply lying asleep on that Chinese rug. Men 
will be men and he’s gone an’ done it. Perhaps 
he’s some trouble with his cases.” Though not 
quite believing this could be all that ailed him, she 
continued, “It doesn’t take much to get a man to 
drink that stuff. I’ll go down and make him com¬ 
fortable and he’ll come around all right. But can’t 
I do something for you?” 

“No, no,” Luella moaned. The maid tip-toed 
out obediently. The suffering wife turned her face 
to her pillow, wondering what horror was this that 
had come into their home. Could he have found 
out what she had done? No; his excuse had an ear¬ 
lier birth. What was it? Her pondering was 
quickly dispelled by pain. Her sense of guilt was 
doubly keen because the reproaches which she was 
prompted to vent upon him she realized were mer¬ 
ited by herself. But divine motherhood had taught 
her to endure patiently mortal pangs, and deeper 
into the pillow she buried her head, moaning and 


INTERFERENCE 143 

weeping softly, steeped in the bitter waters of Ach¬ 
eron. 

The dark hours of night passed to her like a dur¬ 
ance in Tartarus. Fitful were her slumbers, the 
awakenings bringing a keener sense of pain; and the 
long periods of wakefulness wringing her soul. 

Below stairs that alcoholized monster slept so 
profoundly as to have the semblance of death. His 
head was propped upon a couch pillow and a cover¬ 
let was tucked over and around him,—the manner in 
which he had been made comfortable by the zealous 
maid. 

Toward morning Mrs. Rumford awakened again, 
into a sharp consciousness. Her anguish became 
unendurable. She rang for the maid, and when 
that sleepy individual arrived, the sufferer pleaded, 
“Please, Alice—try again to awaken the doctor— 
and tell him that I need him badly!” 

“Yes, ma’am,” the girl responded, feeling com¬ 
passion but not voicing it, because that blanched 
face and sorrowful voice told her that haste was 
needed. 

A few seconds after the maid was recalling the 
doctor from his engulfment in Erebus. “E-h well ?” 
His first impression was that it was Freda, but the 
dark locks disillusioned him. He glanced about 
him startled, wondering at his strange posture and at 
this girl’s presence. 

“Your wife is very ill, and you must go to her at 
once.” He felt nothing save anger at her having 
discovered him thus. 


144 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


He rose with an assumption of dignity, straight¬ 
ened his garments and brushed the carpet nap from 
his suit. “Very well,” he said as the cue for her 
dismissal. He felt abashed, his body ached from 
the floor’s hardness, and his clothes were badly 
rumpled. His mind was clouded and dizzy, and a 
heavy headache set in. He sought to collect his 
scattered wits whilst the import of her message was 
sinking into his brain. Attempting to assume his 
characteristic professional gravity for the benefit of 
the waiting girl, he walked to the stairway and as¬ 
cended. Though his senses were reeling, he avoided 
titubating. There was still that deep sorrow op¬ 
pressing him, from the heartache of the past day’s 
catastrophe. When he entered his wife’s chamber, 
she looked at him and nervously asked: 

“What—Sidney—have you been doing?” 

“That’s not your affair,” he responded sternly. 

“Oh, please, dear, don’t be harsh to me—I’m 
suffering!” And faltering pathetically, she related 
all that had occurred; as he listened to her his brow 
knit with anger. This was more of the work of 
those meddlers! He felt like venting his wrath 
upon her, but forbore, perhaps because his conscience 
pricked him from the cognizance of his turpitude, 
of which she knew nothing. But did she know 
nothing of it? he wondered; else why had she been 
so facile in other hands? Had they told her? In 
her countenance, however, he could discern nothing 
that attested to this knowledge—nothing but that 
pitiful testimony of suffering. 


INTERFERENCE 


145 


The law required him to summon a fellow prac¬ 
titioner and this he did over the telephone imme¬ 
diately. After his arrival and due examination of 
the patient this elderly gentleman gravely concurred 
in the belief that she should go to the hospital at 
once. It was very serious. Her chance of recov¬ 
ery depended. What he was cogitating about his 
confrere he kept to himself. 

A private ambulance was hastily sent for and 
when it arrived in the pre-dawn darkness Luella was 
borne out upon a stretcher. Her children, hap¬ 
hazardly clothed, stood around and cried hysteri¬ 
cally, “Mama! mama! Oh, don’t take her away! 
We want our mama !” And her maids, mopping the 
tears from their eyes, bade her a tearful farewell 
as they helped to tuck her comfortably into the con¬ 
veyance. Doctor Rumford looked on in an attitude 
of apparently stoic indifference although his soul 
was being rent by the consciousness of his inability 
to forestall the deeds of those demons, one of whom 
was sleeping in that house not a hundred feet away, 

•—Mrs. Ruband, the instigator of this latest tragedy. 

The elderly practitioner assured him, “Now, doc¬ 
tor, it won’t be necessary for you to come along. 
I’ll take full charge of the case and will do all I can 
for her.” Doctor Rumford for various reasons 
found this arrangement agreeable to him. In a few 
minutes more the ambulance departed. 

Once more in his house, the doctor ordered the 
maid to put the children back into their beds; and 
he also instructed her to call him at seven o’clock 


146 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


sharp. The maid was a black-haired and dark-eyed 
miss and he sensed an awakening fondness for her. 
Returning to his parlor he had recourse again to his 
brown bottle. Its contents crinkled through his sub¬ 
stance until the Eumenides steeped his brain in a fury 
insenate! He drank copiously, seeking the oblivion 
that is the dark comfort of the bottle fiend. Feel¬ 
ing the comatose effects of his drink stealing over his 
fibres, the doctor reclined upon his couch. 

He had that particularly serious operation to per¬ 
form during this brightening day—Patrick’s. His 
several day’s neglect of it worried him, but this 
thought simply added fuel to the flames of his wrath 
and tinder to his burning thirst. Raising himself 
he lifted the bottle again from the table and drank 
another long draft; the vicious bottle gradually 
slipped from his hand, its contents spilling upon the 
expensive rug; and the doctor’s mind became shut 
once more in the Devil’s darkness. 


CHAPTER VII 


PRAYER 

A T seven o’clock the pretty Alice came and 
awakened him as requested. She was ex¬ 
ceedingly sleepy, but she tingled with merri¬ 
ment at this unusual intimacy with her master. 
The doctor was responsive to her shaking, in that 
he aroused, awoke completely, then arose and went 
immediately upstairs. The girl was piqued at his 
abrupt departure. He needn’t be so cold; his wife 
wasn’t watching him now; and he wasn’t such a 
saint. 

The physician as he laved himself had other and 
more momentous matters preying upon his soul, in¬ 
cluding a dark-brown taste and abnormal thirst, also 
a headache, a sensation of nausea, an inclination to 
irritability, and a feeling of extreme nervousness. 
There were little tremors coursing his hands and 
occasionally electric jumps and quivers in his lower 
limbs; his knees were weak and unsteady. He 
donned another dark suit, and combed his hair and 
mustache with customary care. He had a most 
serious task before him, but his perceptions were 
blunted, his eyesight weak. He knew that he was 

incapaciated for a task so delicate, but he was aware 

147 


148 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


that to proceed with it was imperative. A man’s 
life hung in the balance. 

He returned to his office and took up his duties. 
Patients began to flock in. At chance moments he 
imbibed further small swigs to bolster him. His 
nerves were quite gone to smash by the time that 
Patrick O’Chazey entered. 

Patrick had scarcely entered ere Freda also 
opened the door and came hesitantly into that rather 
dim chamber, her face wreathed in smiles. In looks 
she was a golden Diana, continent as the purest 
snow, yet in reality possessing the frailty of a Cyp¬ 
rian. At the moment of her entry Patrick, re¬ 
plete with tears, was just whimpering to the physi¬ 
cian : 

“I’ve been in awful pain, Doctor! I—I must 
confess to you, sir, that I was drunk the next day; 
you disappointed me so, sir!” Snivelling and sob¬ 
bing dejectedly, he driveled, “An’ yisterday I spent 
in the confessional, making confession to God of my 
sins—of my drinking, sir. Fearing I might die, 
sir, I beseeched the good father an’ the Holy Virgin 
an’ the Saints to gain forgiverance for me—I didn’t 
want to go to Him above with that sin on me soul! 
Oh, I hope I’m not going to die!” he whined, the 
tears streaming from his eyes. 

The physician, sickened by this redundancy of the 
word “confess,” stood grandiosely before the fel¬ 
low and motioned him to silence, whilst he cast his 
own flashing eyes at Freda. She looked her pret¬ 
tiest but betrayed a little fear. The physician could 


PRAYER 


149 


not check the warm flood of happiness that coursed 
him. And when he noticed the fear deepen in her 
face because of his intimidating glare, he knew that 
in his heart he had no wish to hurt her. He beck¬ 
oned to her to come to him in his private office. His 
face remained passively somber. He said to the 
suffering Hibernian: 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a minute or two 
—the nurse, my assistant, has not arrived yet.” 

“All right, Doctor—only, I hope I’m not going 
to die, sir I” 

When the door of that private room closed be¬ 
hind them, Freda reached out her hands to the doc¬ 
tor, “Oh, Sidney—I’m so sorry!” 

The physician remained aloof, as if filled with an¬ 
tipathy, and asked, “Why did you come here 
again ?” 

She summoned a sunny, wheedling smile, as she 
retorted, “How can you ask that? Why did you 
make love to me—and teach me to love you?” 

He raised his hand in rejection of this avowal. 
Plainly a struggle was ensuing within him; his soul 
was reaching out into the universe seeking for God- 
given relief from these overmastering emotions 
which he could not stay. 

This renunciation hurt his pursuer; aye, in this 
respect she was truly his Diana, his huntress, with 
her helpful hounds these little enticements of her 
speech and demeanor. The implication in his man¬ 
ner cut her, because she knew that of her true self 
—that inborn personality, and not the one she had 


i 5 o WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


been maternally schooled to—she did not merit this 
unspoken revilement. She had spent a miserable 
night in consequence of his expulsion of her the day 
before. In that nocturnal reflection she had not 
failed to fathom why she had become liable to these 
insults; her bosom was stirred with resentments that 
would have been termed blasphemies. It is an evil 
and unfortunate thing to become enamored of one 
who is wedded to another. 

Verily did she want him, her Sidney, to become 
her lord and master, her Darby, whilst she re¬ 
tained the reins, a combined driver and running 
mate. She must be patient if she would get the 
halter on him. Smiling through her bitterness, she 
exclaimed, “How handsome you are—you look so 
much better to-day!” But he remained obdurately 
frigid. He was haggard from inebriety and the tor¬ 
ture of his misfortunes. She studied him. How 
hard he was taking it—his downfall! 

“Freda, I’m afraid you will have to excuse me 
for to-day at least. I have an important case that 
I must attend to at once.” 

“That lowly fellow out there!” she ridiculed. 
“Now, tell me—what is such a man’s life worth 
to himself or to any one? There is nothing inspir¬ 
ing about him—he’s simply an animal!” She 
laughed. 

“You are trying my patience, Freda. The man’s 
life is as precious to him as is ours to us. At least, 
he may have no shame that would lead him to seek 
the grave!” 


PRAYER 


151 

Despite this rebuke, Freda smiled at him. “Is it 
really as bad as all that?” she tantalized. 

“Won’t you please go, Freda?” he asked 
gently. 

“Sidney, you can’t cast me off like this—because 
I love you—and I do love you!” Her voice quiv¬ 
ered with emotion, her eyes sparkling, her face 
agleam with a holy light albeit bashfully flushed. 
She expected her words to hurl him into rapture 
and she leaned toward him expectant of his embrace. 
But he remained impassive, except that the pallor 
deepened in his face and a fire flashed in his eyes. 
She did not fully comprehend at what a high ten¬ 
sion his soul was laboring, nor how hard it was for 
him to face losing her. The coldness of his counte¬ 
nance startled her, and she paled a little as she cried 
in tearful petulance, “Oh, Sidney, how can you treat 
me so!” Her emotion was real, and oddly enough 
it had the very effect she had been craving, for he 
stepped forward and drew her into his arms. In 
his embrace she continued her impulsive discourse, 
smiling through her tears. “I guess you’re spoiled,” 
she twitted. “The repletion of marriage seems to 
bring satiety; the reward left to poor me.” She 
sighed heavily—heart hungry. 

Still he did not kiss her; he wondered even why 
he held her. Overwhelming sorrow was oppressing 
him and to speak at all seemed like dragging his 
breath as from the nether world. He iterated, 
“You will have to forgive me to-day, Freda—I have 
too much trouble besetting me.” 


152 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


“What—more trouble?” she questioned. 

He nodded his head affirmatively, his brows cloud¬ 
ing darkly. 

“Tell me,” she pleaded. She seated herself idly 
in his operating chair. 

Thereupon he revealed to her in terse phrases 
what Luella had done, the full disturbance of that 
past night, concluding cheerlessly, “She did a wrong 
that no woman ever should be guilty of, committed 
a sin against her husband and God unforgivable and 
a retribution came swiftly upon her!” His voice 
lowered into an introspective melancholy whisper as 
he said, “And perhaps she will die!” 

“Oh!” gasped Freda, shocked at first, but quickly 
inspired by an involuntary hope; she did not dare to 
breathe another syllable for fear of betraying the 
evil joy that his news aroused within her. She did 
not wish harm to any woman, but Luella’s death 
would give him to her! Could such happiness really 
come? 

Meanwhile the man outside was neglected. The 
physician concluded, “And now you must go, Freda; 
I can’t delay any longer.” 

His Diana impulsively resought his embrace 
as she pleaded, “And won’t you give me just one 
teeny weeny kiss?” She extended her mouth to his 
face. 

He could not deny her and bent to her; the sweet 
perfume and warmth of her golden loveliness reen¬ 
raptured him so that at the conclusion of that fer- 


PRAYER 


153 


vent caress he breathed ardently, “You know that I 
love you, Freda—that I would do anything in my 
power to make you my wife!” He felt her grip 
him more tightly as she pressed her face quiveringly 
to his shoulder. 

Presently she raised her eyes, that sparkled in 
tear-misted ecstasy. “And now I will go—but I can 
come to-morrow?” The lovelight in her face was 
irresistible. 

“Yes, to-morrow,” he reluctantly acquiesced. 

As he stepped over to open the door, she observed 
that he titubated a bit and a wry smile seized her; 
she had inhaled the not offensive perfume of his 
lips—he certainly had three sheets in the wind, was 
her inner comment. Her emotions were a mixture 
due to her twofold personality. When she stood 
upon the threshold of the examination chamber, she 
was tempted to say, “And let us hope !” but repressed 
the words with a twinge of remorse at having 
thought them. She simply nodded prettily and 
breathed, “To-morrow!” Then with a noisy rus¬ 
tling of her skirts she swept into the reception room, 
accorded the obsequious Patrick a pitying frown 
and passed out. 

The doctor’s glazed eyes discovered that the 
nurse had arrived, and that she had attired herself 
in white cap and gown; and when the street door 
closed behind Freda he exchanged greetings with 
this rather cold-eyed young woman. He summoned 
her into his sanctuary. 


154 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

The physician was feeling far from calm. His 
nature was such that big shocks crept in slowly and 
consequently more overwhelmingly. When he had 
accomplished certain preliminaries with Patrick he 
instructed the nurse tersely what things to set out for 
his use. “I will be back with you in a moment,” 
said he, then stepped into the temporarily deserted 
waiting-room. He felt too overwrought. His 
troubles were sounding bottom in his soul. This 
liaison with Freda presented a yawning chasm of 
disaster and possibilities of shame that filled him 
with terror; aye, he comprehended that he was al¬ 
ready in an abyss with the walls of his universe 
crumbling about him. 

“Courage, courage,” he breathed to himself, “a 
little stimulant and then to work!” 

He fetched forth the fatal bottle and quaffed of 
its liquor with avidity. With the fiery substance in 
him—what cared he for the rest of the world! 
Let them do or say what they pleased. He was 
Doctor Rumford, the mightiest of his profession— 
and was beholden to no man. He was about to sit 
down and give himself up to these fascinating con¬ 
ceits of John Barleycorn, to the thrills of the brown 
ruin and its ultimate oblivion, when he sensed at his 
back the cold eyes of the nurse looking at him inimi- 
cally. And although his mind was sinking back into 
its former channels of demoralization and intoxica¬ 
tion, to be gradually superexcited by this goodly new 
draught, he still possessed enough self-control to 
comport himself properly. He lamented that he 


PRAYER 


155 


was still being pursued by these interferes—by this 
pair of envenomed eyes in particular. He had al¬ 
ways paid the girl well; why then all this show of 
odium at first cognizance of his initial misstep? It 
was simply a woman’s nature, he concluded. 

He quivered but braced himself, entered the smal¬ 
ler chamber and took up his duties. He put on his 
white attire whilst the nurse, having finished setting 
out the instruments and arranging the operating ta¬ 
ble, proceeded to complete the preparing of Patrick. 

The sniveling Irishman possessed a strong body 
but lacked moral courage, and he kept up that pit¬ 
eous, involuntary sobbing. Though he was endur¬ 
ing the physical pain unflinchingly, his mental ter¬ 
rors—despite his belief in the golden glory of the 
heavenly host—were unmanning him. 

“Oh, Doctor, do yez think I’ll die!” 

The surgeon scowled. But the nurse’s eyes were 
filled with pity—perhaps she had a premonition of 
what was going to transpire; her past experiences 
had taught her that for a doctor to kill a man was no 
unusual thing. As one of many instances, she had 
seen in a hospital a practitioner come forth from a 
patient’s room with several of his fingers slimy from 
the man’s throat mucus; she believed he had thus 
interiorly strangled the old man to save him from 
suffering further from the frightful results of a rail¬ 
road accident. Her musings, mistaken perhaps, 
were rudely dissipated by Patrick’s rising wail. 

“Oh, I don’t want to go into my grave! It’s so 
dark and damp there! Ugh, the thought of lying 


156 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


there in the blackness rotting! Oh, 9ave me from 
it, Doctor! I’ll give ye all I possess—anything!” 
He sat in a heap in the chair, the big tears rolling 
from his lamblike eyes. 

The physician leered at him. In the past always 
so gentle and sympathetic when observing suffering, 
Doctor Rumford was being metamorphosed by alco¬ 
hol into another being. When facing the unavoid¬ 
able torture of his instruments, women occasionally 
gave way to hysteria, but Patrick presented an un¬ 
usual and rather extreme case. The good nurse, 
however, spoke soothingly: 

“You must be brave—everything may be all right. 
You are a Catholic and you have been taught that 
you must let God’s will be done.” 

“But I don’t wish to die, miss. I love the sun¬ 
shine an’ the trees an’ the flowers; I love life, miss 
—and, oh, I don’t want to die! Oh, please, Doc¬ 
tor”—at the nurse’s gentle bidding he was mounting 
the operating table—“do all you can for me, sir. 
I’ve an old mother in Ireland to whom I send me 
money an’ if I’m called into the dark ’t will be a 
hard blow to her, sir! God have pity on us 1 My 
poor ould mother!” 

Doctor Rumford, stirred by this plea, stepped be¬ 
side his patient, patted him lightly on the shoulder, 
and admonished, “Come, buck up! Get some cour¬ 
age in you. While there’s life there’s plenty of 
hope.” 

“And joy, too, sir! It’s hard to go into that 


PRAYER 


157 


other world, when you don’t know where you’re go¬ 
ing!” The sufferer lay on the table. 

The doctor, through the efforts of his nurse, had 
his instruments and all necessary paraphernalia in 
readiness. As a humorous preliminary step he wiped 
away the tear stains from the patient’s eyes. 
It was noticeable that the physician rocked a bit 
unsteadily, and there was an aspenlike quivering of 
his hands, which he sought to check. He proceeded 
to clip away the hair from about the diseased ear 
and took other essential measures to protect and to 
antisepticize the prospective flesh fissure. Though 
he endeavored to work fast, partly for the purpose 
of concealing his tremors, it is to be feared that 
these outer signs of his inebriate condition were 
missed neither by the embittered nurse nor by the 
luckless patient. When the physician fetched the 
prepared chloroform cone, the pain-ridden Patrick 
sought frantically to arise as he wailed: 

“Oh, no!—no! Doc, I can’t—oh, that dark! I’m 
afraid of it! Oh, glory be t’ God, for me never to 
see this world again!” The man wept despairingly, 
but the surgeon through necessity set his heavy hand 
against that heaving chest and forcibly pressed the 
fellow prone upon the table. As the cone closed 
down on those writhing lips, a last sentence escaped 
them, “Oh, dearest mother, may God protect ye 
and keep ye from harm if I die. . . .” The husky 
voice died away dismally, as that inhalation took 
swift effect. 

The doctor proceeded at his utmost speed, the 



158 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


anxious nurse quickly meeting his needs as com¬ 
manded. He incised the flesh and fastened it back 
until afforded a sufficient surface of the skull bone. 
With his miniature saws, forceps and chisels he then 
hacked into and chipped away the porous, pus-laden 
structure. His hands were shaking and his mind 
seemed groveling in imbecility. He tried to master 
himself, to overcome these obfuscating forces until 
he should be finished. His senses, however, reeled 
blackly. It seemed an eternity ere he began to get 
down to the bottom of this rotted tissue, and came 
into his darkened mind the fear that there might not 
be enough of the cranial shell unaffected to insure 
the man’s recovery. There remained only a thin 
partition to protect his brain if this indeed was not 
diseased. With his sight bedimmed by alcohol the 
practitioner could not tell positively, and whilst 
he stood swaying and peering at it, he grew conscious 
that the nurse was watching him in reproachful en¬ 
mity. He cast a baneful look at her, but she turned 
away from him with the pretense of stirring some 
instruments in the boiling water of the sterilizer. 
In turning back to his work, the doctor slipped and 
fell in ghastly fashion downward, the sharp instru¬ 
ment held by his fingers penetrating that thin parti¬ 
tion and sinking deep into the patient’s brain! 
Floundering in agonized horror upon that dying 
body, pinioned there in his momentary weakness, 
the fuddled physician caught the table with his free 
left hand and struggling fiercely to push himself up¬ 
ward he cast his awful glance toward the nurse. 


PRAYER 


159 


But that omniscient personage apparently did not 
dare to look. By sheer strength of will the physi¬ 
cian pressed himself upward, exerting all his forces 
first to regain sufficient control of his weight and 
balance to yank out that telltale lethal instrument. 
This accomplished and full recovery of his balance 
gained, he shakily feigned continuance of the opera¬ 
tion. His presence of mind perhaps had deceived 
the nurse. 

As she turned about, the young woman’s sharp 
eyes observed the death signs upon the patient and 
she immediately exclaimed about them. The sur¬ 
geon was trembling. A terrible emotion of fear, 
of remorse, of having incurred the wrath eternal, 
was sweeping down upon him. He pretended con¬ 
sternation and his turbulent emotions made his sham 
realistic. In wildest excitement he applied every 
restorative he had available and did not cease until 
he was utterly exhausted and in a state of collapse. 
The nurse was in a panic and now the big tears 
rolled down her cheeks. Poor Patrick had gone 
into that fearsome Beyond, and one more old lady 
was left in abject loneliness. That lifeless body 
looming large and still, held the nurse’s sight. 
Whither had that spirit flown, this life that had ani¬ 
mated that voice and those sparkling Celtic eyes 
these few minutes past? Was life simply inertia, 
a flow and movement that continued until occurred 
a break in the machinery, even as the great spheres 
pursued their cosmic route until came an explosive 
dissolution or other annihilation? Was there no 


160 AVITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


soul that departed that chamber through the medium 
of the universal ether, nor a vital electric force, 
naught that dissipated into the atmosphere except 
the last murmuring sound and the last breath of half- 
used air? A nurse is apt to become a sceptic. 

Doctor Rumford, though collapsing, tried to bear 
himself with dignity. A terrible feeling gripped 
him—in his consciousness of the heinousness of his 
act, although it had been abetted by John Barley¬ 
corn. His feeling of guilt—if, indeed, it were truly 
guilt to be the direct cause of death in an apparently 
incurable and fast terminating case—caused his soul 
to weigh heavily within him. He was sharply aware 
that he had initiated the fatal delay, albeit himself 
stressed by diabolical forces of a hell-begotten fluid. 

“I guess the man’s heart was weak,” said he to the 
nurse as he tried to make light of this mortal dissolu¬ 
tion. “It’s a case of too much excitement and of 
his ill-timed alcoholic indulgence—I warned him 
against it.” Casting a whitish glance at the corpse, 
the surgeon asserted emphatically, “The lethal con¬ 
dition of that wound made recovery absolutely im¬ 
possible.” 

The doctor was aware that the nurse was looking 
coldly at him, and he wondered were those piercing 
eyes conscious of the truth. Had she instinctively 
“felt” that accident although her back was turned; 
she must have been acutely listening in that moment 
when she had turned away through knowing the 
annoyance she was giving him by staring him, and 
those little swishings incident to his tragic prostra- 



PRAYER 


161 


tion and of his hideous struggle in upraising himself 
in that moment of weakness must have been telltale 
noises easily comprehended by her. Had she in 
her mind’s eye seen everything? And would she 
blazon it to the world? If she should, he knew he 
had no way of saving himself, for that deep slim fis¬ 
sure in the brain coils was there to remain until pu¬ 
trefaction obliterated it. 

He foresaw that this fear would never be eradi¬ 
cated from his mind unless he endure the merited 
punishment or be freed from his guilt. It was an¬ 
other burden added to a load sufficient to break any 
human spirit. Throughout that afternoon whilst 
he telephoned to the officials and an undertaker, 
made up the legal papers and accomplished the re¬ 
moval of the body, he had the good sense to conduct 
himself at his best, though it was a sorry best in com¬ 
parison with his former self ere that soul-searing 
bottle had got its hold upon him When finally the 
affair was completed, he locked the doors and stood 
in his parlor with his face drawn and blanched, with 
his soul gripped by a piteous despondency. 

Never before had anything of this sort happened 
to him. True, surgeons sometimes made slips, 
young ones particularly. But for him, Doctor Rum- 
ford, to have killed a man! Even if it were one 
upon whom the black-tattered skeleton creature had 
fastened his withered, grimy fingers preparatory to 
wrenching out life. Should it become known it 
would be a stigma ineffaceable. He opined that to 
be tarred and feathered, or to be made the cringing 


162 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


quarry of a mob in any respect, would be as nothing 
to the mental anguish which he, who had aspired 
to attaining the pinnacle, would suffer in his own 
heart at this downfall. That nurse! How he 
feared her ! What if Judge Harmon should hear of 
it through her babbling—the very thought con¬ 
gealed the doctor’s blood in his veins. 

Now that he meditated upon it, the physician 
realized that the jurist’s threat was already in opera¬ 
tion. Certain patients had failed to keep their ap¬ 
pointments: white-haired A1 Stilton, the lawyer; 
corpulent Fred Graham, the lumber merchant and 
owner of much corporation stock; the ultra-fashion¬ 
able Mrs. Sterles, and several other friends of the 
justice had missed their appointments. It was pat¬ 
ently Harmon’s work. 

The wretched doctor’s thoughts shifted into an¬ 
other channel, regarding his neglect of his research 
work. He was failing to keep up his biology and 
chemistry studies, his search for more comprehensive 
knowledge of the pathology and therapeutics of 
these hideous diseases now remediable only by ab¬ 
scission and subject to the hazards of the knife. The 
recollection of this instrument stabbed into his brain, 
as arose anew in his mental pictures the scene of his 
heinous botchery. It was plain that in the best of 
hands it was too easy for the lance to slip and cut 
through a life protecting tissue, a vein, artery, neural 
centre or other vital organ. The more reason why 
he should make haste with his studies. But he won¬ 
dered was there any use in his trying further. Too 


PRAYER 163 

many forces were at work against him. Life to him 
bore a black outlook indeed. 

As he stood half-blinded by grief his further re¬ 
flection was upon Freda—concerning that suggestion 
in her final words and demeanor. If he could marry 
Freda, all perhaps would be saved. The world for¬ 
gave when the marriage knot was tied. But this 
phase of the subject was something he had not been 
thinking upon when he had mentioned the possibility 
of Luella’s death. The idea now smote him forci¬ 
bly. Came to him the thought of parenthood. His 
mind presented the paradox that although he con¬ 
sidered marriage merely man’s manacle binding man 
and woman to protect the offspring it was apparent 
that paternity did not interest him except it be within 
Christian bounds. It was something he did not rel¬ 
ish. It foreshadowed catastrophes. It would con¬ 
stitute the very nadir of this pit of evil into which 
his soul was being hurled, this Tartarus of pain that 
might grow illimitable and everlasting. But Love 
is a facile casuist. 

This subject recalled the heinous deed that Luella 
had attempted—to murder the harmless small living 
thing that was reaching up to her for incarnation— 
for flesh, for life, and for love! Justly had she been 
smitten by the divine wrath! He vowed she was 
no longer his wife; she had divorced herself from 
him. Her all-possessing love for her children had 
proven simply—piffle! His anger was mounting. 
He was assured he saw through Luella’s character 
as through a crystal. He realized that his every 


164 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


ambition was impossible so long as he was bound to 
this woman sluggish with hypocritical motherhood. 
No longer could he live a life of chastity while this 
immoral bond was upon him—with this murderess 
who had tried to destroy that which was the only 
object of marriage, the sole purpose of that glamour 
with which Nature beautified the call, the emotion 
that is sentimentally termed love. 

Though he did not forget his own multifold cul¬ 
pability, he laid everything at Luella’s door. Her 
failure to assist him to gain recuperation had im¬ 
pelled him to seek it from alcohol and from Freda’s 
companionship. He knew, furthermore, that Freda 
had bound his affections to her with staples inde¬ 
structible. And so long as he maintained this friend¬ 
ship, and in natural course became involved more 
deeply in it, it would be impossible for him to regain 
the good will of Judge Harmon’s hypocritical upper 
sphere. Which brought him back to thought upon 
the woman who was the sole obstacle between him 
and all his ambitions. 

And whilst he meditated upon her, his brain ran¬ 
kling with sneers, he went to his cabinet and fetched 
his bottle. As he took several drams this act of 
drinking veered his mind to thoughts of his children, 
motherless for this night and perhaps forever, but 
he decided they would be all right in eating supper 
alone or at least in the care of the maid. Remem¬ 
brance of that dark-haired, black-eyed young lady 
and of her recent proximity to him whilst he had 
lain upon this very floor prompted a whim to seek 


PRAYER 


165 

her companionship this evening; but he rejected the 
thought, partly through his innate goodness and 
partly through fear lest he bring some new calamity 
upon him. He did not want more trouble—but to 
get rid of what was already oppressing him. 

Again he thought of Luella and as he did so he 
imbibed further whiskey. Not one picture of her 
possible plight arose in his mind. Not one particle 
of sympathy for her did he feel. He visualized her 
as still in those outer household chambers, pursuing 
her same dull way as in the past, a hypochondriac, 
a seek-sorrow, in fear of death. He involuntarily 
jeered as he recalled the many nights when she had 
awakened him to tell him with her gasping breath 
that she had been smothering or had felt herself 
sinking away like a departing soul into the vast dark. 
Afraid to go to her Maker! Why? The question 
came as a vociferation, and as he held the newly 
filled glass before him, he vowed it was because she 
knew she was rotten at heart, a sloth who was hiding 
herself behind that false shield of motherhood. She 
had not endured her proper punishment for being 
born; her confinements were nothing to her. In his 
alcohol-inflamed soul he reflected that women should 
suffer the punishment entailed by Eve’s mischief, for 
the trouble they caused men. They were the root 
of all evil. Would to God that she, Luella, would 
die! He flung the words from between his gritted 
teeth. The drink demons were in possession of 
him, body and soul. And all this false reasoning, 
and this uncharitable condemnation of the pure and 


166 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


good, merely exemplified the mental processes of the 
drunkard. 

Luella, by robbing him of the fascinating compan¬ 
ionship of Freda, was keeping his soul upon the red 
coals. If Freda were here he could forget and ob¬ 
tain relaxation. Some of Kipling’s verses streamed 
through his cranial coils though in different tense and 
application. Oh, the years he’d wasted—and the 
work of his head and hand—to whom belonged 
they? To the woman who didn’t know why he did 
it all. And it wasn’t the shame, and it wasn’t the 
blame that stung like a white-hot brand; it was com¬ 
ing to know that she never knew why (seeing at 
last she could never know why) and never could un¬ 
derstand. “Oh, God, have mercy upon me and free 
me from her!” the physician cried infuriately into 
the infinitude. He began pacing feverishly, un¬ 
steadily up and down the room, gaining the strength 
of his fiendish desire. In broken-voiced appeal, ex¬ 
tending his arms passionately heavenward, he knelt 
in the soft opalescent light of the bacchanal lamp and 
before that exquisite copy of Rubens’s “The Holy 
Family,” and drunkenly did a thing unpardonable. 
He lifted up his soul in prayer—for the death of his 
wedded wife, Luella! 

“O Heavenly Father,” he piteously cried, “why 
hast thou cast me from Thee? Was I not Thy 
worker? Why still my hands? I beseech Thee to 
take unto Thee and from me this woman who is my 
false wife! That I have sinned is due to my frailty 
and to her; the blood upon my hands is there through 


PRAYER 


167 


mishap. But she has deliberately sought to kill that 
which Thou hast put into her womb. Oh, merciful 
God, take her from me!” With his mind feverish 
and half-crazed he arose, grasped unsteadily at a 
table, and with fiery eyes screamed as to no one in 
particular, “Give me the woman I crave! I will 
wear the hair-shirt of atonement by enduring inces¬ 
sant labor! O God! . . .” His voice died away 
into the nocturnal silence. 

This monster had paused in his profanation of 
holy prayer quite as if God’s hand had reached down 
at once and put an end to his depravity. The 
drunken man felt as if the floor were sinking be¬ 
neath him. To steady himself he secured his bottle 
and dashed off another glass. 


CHAPTER VIII 

HOME 

I N the work hours of the next day, Doctor 
Rumford was once more busy assuaging the 
pains and ills of his patients. As yet there 
was perhaps little perceptible change in the details 
of his routine. But it was noticeable that none of 
the fashionable upper folk appeared. Also was 
there in one other aspect a decided alteration. The 
effects of his debauching were becoming so discerni¬ 
ble in the practitioner’s countenance and demeanor 
that he appeared a wreck. It was apparent that he 
was enjoying a Jekyll and Hyde existence. And it 
seemed as if he had stopped midway between the two 
visages, his countenance appearing like something 
that had been crushed and though straightened out 
remained filled with ineradicable puffings and wrin¬ 
kles. He summoned his patients into his sanctum, 
however, with the same gentility of manner as form¬ 
erly. Elis voice was somewhat more raspy, and 
little fires of anger kindled quickly in his eyes at the 
slightest provocation, an irritability which undoubt¬ 
edly lost him some of the esteem in which these 
persons had always held him. 

In the afternoon at about three o’clock Freda 

came in. She was caparisoned more gayly than 

168 





HOME 


169 

ever, and appeared not unlike some fabulous jewel 
life-filled and humanized to become finally pendant 
perhaps upon the bosom of gigantic Satan. That 
she was undeniably a gorgeous human treasure the 
doctor was forced to admit. She was timid and 
nervous, however, because though he could not know 
it she had come with a new scheme in her heart,—one 
far more venturesome and risky than any she had 
ever dared heretofore to contemplate. It was the 
outgrowth of her unconquerable emotions, of that 
ruthless passion that was actuating her beyond con¬ 
trol. She sensed fear of impending retributive inci-, 
dents that might attend the consummation of her 
project. 

The doctor, absorbed in his work at the moment 
of her entry, nodded to her by way of greeting and 
she did not fail to note the small bright gleams 
of lasciviousness in his eyes. For he was drinking 
steadily now, a little glass almost hourly, sufficient 
to keep him in a state of jingling optimism. He 
immediately speeded up to rid his office of the few 
other patients, perhaps because he feared what these 
wagging tongues would breathe abroad after observ¬ 
ing the intimacy which he and Freda must exhibit. 
The green vapor of calumny was already spreading 
broadcast, he suspected—whisperings of the doctor’s 
affair with that golden-haired hussy! What conver¬ 
sations Judge Harmon must be holding every day 
with his chum Turner or with others of his multitudi¬ 
nous friends in that upper circle, the physician could 
readily conjecture. 


170 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


Doctor Rumford was subconsciously pinning his 
hope of self-redemption largely upon his belief that 
Luella would die. He had not called up the hospi¬ 
tal because he did not wish to break this spell of en¬ 
chantment. His better self still retained some grip 
upon him. It was true the aged Doctor Hellar in 
charge of the case had assured him that he would 
exert every effort to effect a safe recovery. Per¬ 
haps Hellar’s silence now was caused by his goodly 
rush of business, or perhaps he was having difficulty 
and did not wish to admit defeat until the Grim 
Spectre had taken his victim. 

While this man of her desire was engrossed in 
ridding himself of his patients, Freda with her hat 
and coat removed stood before the paintings, heed¬ 
less of the other waiting patients. Against that 
dusky background the gold of her was sleek and beau¬ 
tiful; aye, truly did she harmonize with this gorgeous 
setting of gold-framed masterpieces, richly carved 
furniture and multicolored gleamy objets d’art, ob¬ 
viously in her proper sphere. A withered spinister 
nudged her woman companion and deprecated, 
“Bold as brass!” They looked at each other know- 
ingly. 

There was a tiny smile upon Freda’s lips in her 
consciousness that she was winning to all these 
things. Fate certainly seemed ready to give her 
entry into this home on terms that the world would 
consider honorable. Thoughts upon this prospec¬ 
tive life filled her with ecstasy. To merit and re¬ 
tain it she would comport herself at her best and in 


HOME 


171 

absolute chastity. He had intimated that she would 
become a belle in that exclusive super-society, and 
she knew he would be her prop supporting her 
against any evil designs. If he would but stop 
drinking! What a wild creature he was! A wee 
taste had awakened in him a thirst unquenchable 
except by a brown Niagara! Her personal loveli¬ 
ness, however, had proven victorious thus far and 
she felt assured that it would continue to prove suffi¬ 
cient to keep him in the narrow path of rectitude to 
which they henceforth must cling albeit enveloped in 
an atmosphere of gayety. 

Poor Freda! It is such a vain and miserable 
thing, seeking to usurp the matrimonial place of an¬ 
other woman when not abetted by the Almighty. 
The girl had not a suspicion that Mrs. Rumford 
was quite well and sound and at that very instant 
was in a limousine and speeding homeward. On the 
other hand, the ill-advised wife and mother had no 
means of knowing that her home had become a place 
of idolatrous worship. Nor did she know that her 
house had become even worse—the scene of an al¬ 
coholic homicide. 

While Freda amused herself in her study of the 
pictures, one by one the patients departed. Freda 
covertly eyed each of them, wondering what their 
ailments might be. Now that the place was assum¬ 
ing so personal an interest to her, she was not a lit¬ 
tle fearful lest some of these blights might be conta¬ 
gious and she wondered if some ill would befall this 
home when it was hers. She intuitively felt that a 


172 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


doctor’s household must enjoy immunity from Sir 
Germ. Possibly Freda also pondered how much 
each person was paying; and if it were much, that was 
further reason for seeking entry into this palatial 
sanctuary. 

The doctor, of course, reappeared at his door at 
each departure. And when the last of his patients 
was gone, Freda walked to him with her hands out¬ 
stretched, the swishing of her golden gown softly 
audible, a smile wreathing her lips as she said, “At 
last I have you all to myself!” She saw that he was 
a trifle unsteady, but that his face was genially ra¬ 
diant and happy. 

“Well, Freda—Pm charmed!” he exclaimed. 
John Barleycorn was scintillating within his eyes. 
Grasping her yielding shoulders familiarly between 
his hands, he feasted his gaze upon her. “Fve seen 
wild fowls from the tropics bedecked in gaudiest 
raiment,” he cajoled, “but, Freda, you certainly are 
the handsomest of all creatures here or in Paradise !” 
He drew her to him and pressed her lips. His new 
manner had been awakened by whiskey. He acted 
quite as if he felt that the right to usurp the nectar 
and petaled beauties of womanhood was since pri¬ 
mordial times his—man’s! 

Freda’s eyes assumed a serious hungry question¬ 
ing as she asked, “Have you heard—how is Mrs. 
Rumford?” He answered her, however, in raillery. 

“Pshaw! there you go—spoiling all my feelings!” 
He attempted to feign pique, but remained in his 
eyes that brilliant sparkle of laughter, of ravish- 


HOME 


173 


ment, that unholy yearning which she had seen often 
enough in masculine eyes but which she did not ad¬ 
mire. He breathed sibilantly: 

“That’s the woman in you!” 

“And what is the rest of me?” she laughed. 

“Angel—pure angel!” he ejaculated, attempting 
to embrace her again. 

“But please, dear—please,” she protested, “we 
must be serious; haven’t you heard at all?” She 
noticed that the aroma of whiskey in his breath was 
sweetened by peppermint—he had already learned 
that trick of nibbling a mint lozenge! 

“I will telephone and find out,” he answered in 
jest. 

“No; no; please don’t!” Freda dissented impul¬ 
sively, raising her arm in an encircling embrace of 
his neck and leaning her head hungrily upon his 
bosom. She was superstitiously afraid that this 
telephoning might by malevolent witchery undo her 
chances of retaining him. She thought it better to 
let things remain as they were, for no news was 
a sort of good news. A thought struck her and 
she gazed up at him. 

“What if Luella should not die?” she asked ap¬ 
prehensively. 

“Bosh, Freda!” he laughed in evasion. “Any¬ 
way, why cross that bridge until we come to it?” 
In his condition approximating drunkenness he 
seemed bent on bantering and acted as if hungry to 
tease her with his lips, as if she might be a golden 
tulip and he a bee insatiable. He was not telling 


i 74 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


her what necromancy he himself had attempted to 
invoke during the tragic hours of the past evening 
to her purpose, nor aught of the heinous deed he 
had unfortunately been guilty of. Freda looked at 
him, her nerve forces tremulous. 

“You just won’t be serious this morning,” she 
complained, though she could not help smiling. “But 
please, dear, you must be. Don’t you really want 
me to be yours?” 

“With all my blood and soul,” he avowed. 

“Then—then—” she faltered, scarcely daring to 
give utterance to her premeditated wish. 

“Come, now, you mustn’t worry,” he interrupted, 
mistaking the full trend of her mind. “This Doc¬ 
tor Hellar is not any too perfect, and that he has 
not called me up is a good sign. I know the inner 
feelings of the practitioner too well not to be able 
to guess the truth. He’s defeated, beaten; and is 
afraid to tell me! I don’t think he has quite so 
much patronage as not to have the time to tele¬ 
phone me.” The doctor smiled confidently, arro¬ 
gantly, if in false optimism. 

“Then you must—let me stay here— now!” Freda 
breathed, smiling with quivering lips. 

A flash of anger lit her companion’s eyes as he 
grasped her by the shoulders and held her away 
from him the better to gaze at her. “What made 
you think of that?” he demanded. “What thoughts 
have you in your mind?” 

“I—I—please, you are hurting me!” she en¬ 
treated. Her aspect of suffering twinged him with 


HOME 


175 


compassion, and enfolding her to him tenderly, he 
exclaimed: 

“It could not be—so soon!” 

“But you seemed so sure of her death,” she re¬ 
monstrated. “You know that it’s because I love 
you and want to be near you!” She hid her face 
upon his shoulder and sobbed convulsively. 

“You most assuredly shall be mine and live here,” 
he asserted. 

She looked up at him, that yearning lovelight in 
her eyes. “Oh, Sidney, do you mean it, really?” 

“Why, of course !” he responded. 

“Oh, I shall be the happiest of women!” she cried 
spiritedly, clinging more tightly about his neck and 
overcome by a flood of emotion. The chamber was 
growing dark as if a storm were imminent. Out¬ 
doors there were bad-weather clouds lowering in 
somber formation. Came the sound of an automo¬ 
bile horn honking in the roadway before the house, 
a warning which startled Freda out of her reverie, 
but the doctor growled: 

“Don’t mind them; some patients probably—or 
friends,” he sneered. “If they want me, let them 
come in; I’m not at their beck and call to that ex¬ 
tent!” 

The possibility of some one’s coming in at any 
moment impressed upon Freda the need of haste in 
urging her plea and she supplicated, “Please, dear, 
won’t you show me through the house?” Her eyes 
grew softly bright as she added, “You know—in my 
thoughts—I picture myself out there ”—she mo- 


176 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

tioned to that sacred door beyond which were his 
living chambers—“and fancy myself to be really 
your wife, the mistress of your household, beloved 
by all your children—and particularly by you !” snug¬ 
gling closer. 

He did not answer. His mind was in a turmoil. 
What would the servants say? What if things 
should not come to pass as he and she were expect¬ 
ing? Aye, what if through those gabbing servants 
the neighbors should learn of this premature “re¬ 
marriage?” And there was the difficulty of the 
children. Little Elsie was too precocious to fail 
to get some idea of what was transpiring. 

“No, no !” he dissented. “It can’t be now, Freda, 
my darling. It would be too shameless! My chil¬ 
dren! The servants!” 

“Please, dear; oh, please! What do you care for 
those menials? Their tongues will wag anyway, 
and their talk is nothing but drivel. Discharge the 
nurse and say that I have taken her place; it will 
give me a chance to win the love of the children. 
The servants and the neighbors will not be able to 
prove anything—and then the marriage ceremony 
will straighten out everything, for they can’t talk 
after that. Marriage is the great redeemer,” she 
laughed despite her seriousness. 

He thought upon these things a moment, upon 
the efficacy of that catholicon, the marriage bond, 
that cures the unholiness of the man and woman by 
transmuting the otherwise immoral into the moral; 
and he cogitated also upon the desirability of that 


HOME 


177 


other balm which would assuage all the ills and mis¬ 
eries of his heart, this proximity of her, his Freda, 
within his home, their home. He agreed with her 
philosophy so completely that he seized her and 
gazed upon her, madly worshipful. 

“All right,” he spoke, “it might as well be now 
as at any other time!” 

He released her and with eyes asparkle turned to¬ 
ward that inner door to lead the way into his home 
—when the forward street entry door opened and 
Luella stood upon the threshold! She was pale. 
She had returned home in that limousine nervously 
tearful and penitent. But the failure to answer her 
auto-horn summons had irritated her and this singu¬ 
lar scene instantly aroused in her a fiery rage. She 
believed that where there is smoke there is fire. 
Had she opened that door a second sooner and 
espied Freda in the doctor’s clasp, she would 
not have needed any clairvoyant aid. But now just 
what the scene meant was hard to say. Strange 
tricks chance plays, so often saving the guilty and 
quite as frequently inculpating the innocent. Luel- 
la’s only “smoke” was the green vapor of her con¬ 
stitutional jealously. But all her penitential re¬ 
solves in regard to redeeming herself through ex¬ 
cessive dutifulness became ashes in her soul. As she 
glared in white-faced animosity at them she con¬ 
tracted her features as if ready to snarl. 

The doctor glowered at her wrathfully. Freda 
stood petrified by her guilt. 

“Oh, don’t let me disturb you!” sneered Mrs. 


178 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

Rumford in bitterness. “As you observe, I’m quite 
all right again.” She looked directly at her hus¬ 
band, totally ignoring his visitor. This demeanor 
was not lost to her husband, who concluded that it 
was another reason why she would never be able to 
meet and gain the friendship of that upper circle, 
although Mrs. Rumford would have plainly told him 
that she was better born than they, an English gen¬ 
tlewoman. There was in her eyes a hunger for 
her husband’s favor. This yearning went hand in 
hand with her anger. With a sneer she snapped, 
“I must see how my children are !” and jerking away 
from them, she assumed her grandest manner whilst 
mounting the stairway. In her heart was a furious 
desire to rend this golden butterfly, to drag her by 
the hair until she should plead for mercy—as is a 
woman’s droll idea of combat. She realized only 
subconsciously, if at all, that the girl was her evil 
genius. 

The two culprits stood aghast until she was out 
of earshot; then Freda, who had sized up Luella as 
a handsome woman if too obviously motherly, 
breathed to her lover, “Your wife!” She was 
trembling from disappointment and fear. The 
doctor remained inert, stupefied. 

“Oh, Sidney, our plan is destroyed!” Freda 
cried. “Listen, dear, you must try to do something, 
do you hear me?” Her face was flushed to warm 
scarlet. She was on the verge of hysterical tears 
from her vivid awareness of her guilt and her anger 
at this humiliation. 


HOME 


179 


The doctor simply stood staring at her. He was 
ripe for another debauch. When the slightest thing 
goes awry it is an excuse for drinking. For a mo¬ 
ment he felt convinced anew that he hated all wo¬ 
men. 

Freda moreover was frightened. For, though 
Mrs. Rumford had looked weak and pale, there 
was no telling what moment she might return to 
this room—a woman has such keen intuition regard¬ 
ing her retention of her husband and offspring. If 
Mrs. Rumford should reappear, infuriate and hys¬ 
terical it was beyond conjecture what havoc she 
might wreak. The unhappy young woman did not 
wish to find out. It was a predicament altogether 
too precarious and Freda’s sole impulse was to flee. 
She turned towards the door, her face blanched and 
her voice quivering. “Well, bye-bye, Sidney, I must 
be going.” A brief contemplative pause, then, “I 
shall expect you to-night if you like, or you can tele¬ 
phone me when.” 

When once more out in the night and quite safe, 
Freda felt an overwhelming reaction, a conscious¬ 
ness that all was lost. With her knees trembling 
weakly and her soul enveloped in despair, she knew 
one dominant desire—to get to some seclusion where 
she could burst into tears and give full vent to sor¬ 
row. Her hands covered her face as she moaned, 
“Oh, God, what will become of me!” She was now 
fully aware of her predicament, a moth about the 
flame, her character in jeopardy. In her soul- 
racking grief she fairly ran down the path. 


180 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


This was the first vital setback of her life; here¬ 
tofore all that she had craved had come to her so 
easily that she had lived as in a dream, her beauty 
and her mother’s love Aladdin’s magic lamp winning 
her all things without effort or cost to her. She 
was so spoiled that whenever she set her heart on 
anything her desire gripped her every fibre; but her 
longing to possess the doctor was more deeply im¬ 
bedded. She had butted against the adamantine 
wall of the marriage bond and she realized how little 
hope remained. She was convinced that she loved 
the doctor more than she did life. She was con¬ 
scious of the evil arrangement of circumstances that 
had engendered that love, and she felt a fierce ha¬ 
tred for the fates responsible for this prearranged 
trap in which, like the living beast tethered in the 
African jungle to lure the lion into creating a pic¬ 
ture for the photographer’s camera, she had been 
the bait and the victim. She was the Marguerite in 
verity. 

At an upper window two jaundiced eyes were fas¬ 
tened upon her, eyes yellowed only figuratively—by 
jealousy. In reality they were the softest and most 
trusting of blue eyes. At the sound of the door 
closing below stairs, Luella had hastened to the win¬ 
dow, a not unusual procedure with her even in the 
quietest times. A brief word with the maid and a 
glance at the children had assured her of their well¬ 
being. So that she was unhindered in her pastime; 
she loved to study people when they did not suspect. 
She believed they always concealed their real selves, 


HOME 


181 


and in all things they said or did in her presence 
she looked for their hidden thought. Her usual 
method was to con over afterward in solitude all 
the details of an incident, and it was surprising how 
accurately she arrived at the truth. But she was 
easily dissuaded from her convictions. If the chil¬ 
dren in a spirit of precocious mischief told her some¬ 
thing, however, especially about “Pop,” and then 
told her they were only chaffing, she would refuse to 
believe the tale false, for where was smoke there 
must be a fire! And the doctor suffered much irri¬ 
tation in consequence. It was simply her nature. 
She regarded all women as potential rivals, and con¬ 
sidered most of them to be openly and shamelessly 
seeking the favor of her husband. As she looked 
now from her window it is a question what she read 
in the young woman’s grief-racked manner. Did 
she divine the plot that she had upset so facilely if 
unconsciously? Or did she attribute this upheaval 
of soul to her insult, and did she get a modicum of 
pleasure from this belief? Or did she ascribe the 
tears to some mishap, some butchery consummated 
by the doctor, in consequence of her contemning re¬ 
buke? Or lastly, did she consider it to be merely 
theatrical display all affected for the doctor’s bene¬ 
fit to gain that sort of sympathy which is akin to 
and often mistaken for that emotion called love, 
which perhaps her charms had failed to instill? 
Luella laughed as she mused on the vain efforts of 
these hussies to win her husband. She was assured 
that every feminine creature that habituated his 


182 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


office was trying to capture him. She had faith in 
her husband’s cold unimpressionableness under all 
circumstances. 

From her meditation she was truly getting a heap 
of amusement. Discovery of hidden soul doings in¬ 
terested her far more than their import affected her. 
Her anger was transitory; she liked too well to live 
her life quietly. But her quietude was principally 
due to the fact that she did not believe her own 
thoughts, though she gave every outward token of 
belief in them. In this instance a little smile curled 
about her lips, a grimace contemptuous and bitterly 
malign, as she watched that receding figure hastening 
in a frenzy beneath the trees and almost immediately 
beyond sight. 

Freda had departed without waiting for the doc¬ 
tor’s reply; indeed, there was none upon his lips. 
The shock of Luella’s return had staggered him. 
After a moment he walked pensively further into his 
chamber and lighted some of those magical lamps. 
The dancing Oriental bacchanal cavorted in fiendish 
merriment. This had been the sort of episode it 
exulted in. The lamp’s opaline gleams lent an 
added weirdness to the outward manifestations of 
the doctor’s thoughts. The ring-eyed serpent of the 
large rug seemed almost to writhe in actuality in its 
effort to sink its fangs into the limbs of this man¬ 
being upon whom its circular eyes maintained their 
gloating gaze—into this erring human whose blood 
was stirred by the pronged fork of evil until his 


HOME 


183 

spirit was dying within him. Who was, indeed, 
thinking that God had abandoned him and that he 
merited this abandonment. 

Doctor Rumford in his way of thinking could not 
understand why the Almighty had not been kind to 
him by freeing him from this mistakenly espoused 
and obnoxious woman. It was enough to make a 
man commit suicide or murder! He paused in his 
pacing a second—reflected upon the latter act—it 
would be so easy for him to accomplish. But, nay; 
he considered he had blood enough upon his hands. 
There must be some other way out of this grotto of 
despair. He tosed his hand as if in the realization 
that all was lost to him, now and forever. There 
was naught to do except to steep himself in the bot¬ 
tle’s amber fluid, to drink himself into oblivion and 
await defiantly his destruction by this catastrophe 
sw r ooping down upon him. 

Suddenly a spark of intelligence lighted in his 
soul, flickered and flared there until he saw plainly 
a way out. It was so simple; why had it not oc¬ 
curred to him sooner? He could have apprised 
Freda of it. The idea teemed him with hope and 
optimism. Whilst studying out the details of his 
plan he had recourse to the brown flagon to bolster 
him. Some patients came in and he attended to 
their needs. His better patronage was diminishing 
alarmingly but in his self-delusion of the moment he 
concluded that would not last. Now that he had 
discovered an avenue of escape from this embroglio, 
this dark forest of troubles, he was assured—espe- 


184 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

dally after he had taken a few more drinks—that 
when he so willed he could and would overcome all 
thwarting influences, would have even Judge Har¬ 
mon knuckling to him; such is the conceit of alcohol. 

When his day’s work was done, the doctor went 
out to the family supper table, in his mind the in¬ 
tention to visit Freda that night and to acquaint her 
with his project. At the table Luella held her eyes 
downcast. She was visibly meek and nervous, more 
in her original mood of seeking forgiveness. Her 
husband scrutinized her sharply a moment, then in¬ 
quired: 

“Are you quite all right again?” 

“Yes,” she faltered. She refrained from saying 
more on the subject, on account of the presence of 
the children, a reason which he did not grasp. He 
was piqued at her reticence, bethought him how 
different would be the atmosphere of this beauteous 
dining chamber were this dull, incommunicative 
woman supplanted by the brilliant, beautiful Freda. 
Even whilst he scowled thus at his wife he was visual¬ 
izing Freda sitting there in her stead; he visioned 
that dainty, youthful grace, that manner so unmoth- 
erly yet truly feminine in exquisite tenderness, and 
that supernal sun-gold which individualized her and 
made her superangelic. He fancied Freda’s smile, 
which he had oft observed grow delightfully self- 
conscious under his enhungered gaze; and so wrought 
up was he in his fantasying that he actually smiled 
most fondly at this soul-phantom—Luella, being in 
his line of vision, naturally mistook this smile to be 


HOME 


185 


intended for herself, became confused and over¬ 
spread with an abashed responsive smile that was 
characteristic of her. The doctor expected, as his 
right, this embarrassed genial response to his fas¬ 
cinating stare—demanded it. So narrow was his 
vista that for an instant he was deluded into believ¬ 
ing it was actually Freda smiling upon him, and a 
dart of anger sped through him when he realized 
that it was his wife’s modest, self-effacing lips that 
had given him this cheat of fancy. 

This madman did not comprehend what emotions 
were disturbing his other half and making her trem¬ 
ulous before him. When the meal was finished, 
however, and she had sent the children to their beds 
—in the care of that maid whose situation was so 
precarious, whom Freda had wished so lately to re¬ 
place—Luella looked over at her husband almost 
tearfully. 

“I’m utterly sorry, Sidney!” 

“H’m,” he grunted, his countenance remaining 
congealed. 

“Please, dear, won’t you forgive me? Fve suf¬ 
fered enough already. And I will try so hard to 
make amends.” 

She observed his continued coldness but entreated 
the more piteously, her tears welling up and over¬ 
flowing. “You saw how God’s retribution came 
swift upon me. Fve been punished. But they say 
no harm’s been done. Won’t you forgive me?” 

He flashed a malicious leer at her. But the ha¬ 
tred in his heart was too intense to find expression. 


186 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


“Please, Sidney—oh, please say you forgive me!” 
Unconsciously she extended her clasped hands to him 
in her pleading and her voice quivered as she reiter¬ 
ated, “I will try so hard to make amends!” 

“They can tell nothing at all about what damage 
you’ve done,” he said simply, adding, “I’m going out 
and I shall not be back until late.” 

Luella’s emotions altered in a trice. “To that 
bold hussy, I presume!” 

“How dare you!” he snarled, threateningly. 

“Oh, I’m not any dupe to you !” she retorted. She 
flung her napkin from her, arose abruptly and quit¬ 
ted the room. It was not because she thought him 
actually going to the girl; she merely seized upon 
this sarcasm as a weapon for flailing him for his 
obduracy. What would be her nature, however, 
when she finally discovered the truth, when the “mur¬ 
der” outed? 

Her husband’s liquor-dimmed eyes followed her 
with a fire of malignity in them until she disappeared 
up the staircase. Then he stepped into his office. 
From sheer force of habit he hurriedly set away 
his instruments, adjusted his apparatus and placed 
everything shipshape. Thereupon he fetched and 
donned his street apparel and sauntered forth quietly 
into the night. 


CHAPTER IX 


SPRINGTIME 

L ATER that evening Doctor Rumford stood in 
Freda’s parlor. In a few seconds Freda ap¬ 
peared and came faltering to him, her aspect 
mournful, her handkerchief to her lips and her 
bosom still heaving from the severe spell of weeping 
she had been enduring. In his eyes, however, she ap¬ 
peared utterly beautiful, her form clothed in an ele¬ 
gant gown of her favorite color, glossy old gold, and 
her coiffure neat despite her grief. But her demeanor 
of sorrow swept him into compassion, there arose a 
catch in his throat, and he found himself unable to 
murmur more than, “Why, Freda!” 

She was unable to respond, but simply slid up 
to him and tumbled into his arms overwhelmed by 
anguish. He was abashed; never before had he 
seen a woman cry this way. 

Freda raised her head, gasping, and with her 
handkerchief pressed against her mouth in a vain ef¬ 
fort to stifle her sobs she cried, “Oh, Sidney, what 
shall I do?” 

Plainly beyond pacifying, she buried her head 
again in his shoulder and continued to weep with 
unabated fierceness. He was helpless and obeyed 

the sole sympathetic impulse which stirred him by 

187 


188 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


lowering his lips reverently to her fragrant locks. 
In his heart he felt he would give anything could he 
but eradicate this sorrow and console her. It was 
evident that she was in the veriest depths of de¬ 
spondency. Long gasping sighs rent her bosom, her 
hot tears pouring forth in a grief unendurable. 
With her clenched fists she beat upon his chest hys¬ 
terically, exclaiming: 

“Oh, I can’t stand it. It meant everything to me 
—love, happiness and you!—and I have lost you 
forever!” 

“It’s not that bad, Freda,’’ he protested, vainly 
seeking to soothe her. 

“Oh, Sidney, you don’t understand,” she sobbed. 
“I want marriage!—I want you! I want my baby! 
—I want all that is woman’s right, and it can’t 
be! Oh, why did I ever get to feel this way for 
you!” 

The doctor held her from him to scrutinize her— 
he studied her flushed countenance. What volcanic 
passions she embosomed, was his thought; and what 
an incomparable woman to possess! “Come, you 
mustn’t feel that way,” he spoke. “I’m deeply 
sorry that all that happened!” 

“Oh, it isn’t your wife’s fault,” sobbed Freda in 
broken protest, “nor your fault, dear. Oh, would 
that I had my father to get the sanctuary I need, 
a haven from all this evil and misery!” The inten¬ 
sity of her pathetic wish loosed her flow of tears 
again, and she clamored, “Oh, Sidney, I can’t stand 
it! I can’t.” 


SPRINGTIME 


189 

u My poor little Niobe,” the doctor whispered, 
“you and I seem to have suffered a lot of tears lately; 
perhaps it is the absolution and divine chastening 
preceding the granting of all our wishes! Or do 
you think it is really all my fault?” 

“No, no, dearest love! It is I—I!” Endeavor¬ 
ing to check her sobs, she pressed her handkerchief 
to her lips and condemned herself with, “I’m too 
flighty and unstable in my emotions! Too quick 
to become wrought up and actuated by some new 
philosophy of conduct; always seeking the utmost 
from life to satisfy the needs of my supersensitive 
emotions—and I’ve taken thus to this new ethics— 
only to have fate disillusion me! My love for you 
has given me only desolation! Oh, Sidney, what 
am I going to do?” 

The physician had been drinking in every word 
she said, his soul smitten with the unhappiness and 
misery of it all. 

“You know, dear,” she faltered, bent on confes¬ 
sing her cup of sorrow to its very dregs, “I came to 
you only in the spirit of the game, woman’s instinc¬ 
tive man hunt, to make a gull of you!” 

The doctor, however, could not permit himself to 
think that her approach to incontinence had come 
other than by life’s chance. Moreover, in him flared 
that smouldering consciousness that he himself was 
not without blood upon his hands and soul and that 
it was not meet, therefore, for him to cast any 
stones. From this combat within him his face had 
blanched until it had become ashen, but he pressed 


igo WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


her most tenderly to him as he spoke, “No matter 
what you have done, I couldn’t hold any grievance 
against you—for I love you, Freda! And I wish 
only to find some way to make you all mine, to have 
us brush this unhappy past out of our minds so we 
may live in that pure, glorious felicity which is our 
birthright—and to which we both aspire!” 

“Oh, Sidney dear, I’m so glad to hear you say 
that! There must be a way and you must find it if 
only for the sake of—’’ The dominant thought in 
her mind was revealed in the sweet, tear enmisted 
pleading in her smiling eyes. Her auditor’s face be¬ 
came overcast, however, at this latter utterance, this 
suggestion of her being “armed and engined for 
one sole purpose.” The doctor’s eyes glinted wrath- 
fully as he stared into the golden glow of the tall 
lamp. He recovered his poise instantly. 

“That’s just why I came here in such haste to you 
to-night, because I have thought of a way out—of 
at least part way.” He lowered her a little within his 
arms that he might look down fondly into her eyes 
as he breathed, “What do you say we seek out a se¬ 
cluded nest and fix it up for ourselves?” 

With a swift, gaspy “Oh!” she leaped up, flung 
her arms tightly about his neck, lifting her dancing 
feet from the floor and fairly strangling him as she 
exclaimed, “My Sidney, my own Sidney!” Alas, 
for those that follow passion! A golden smile burst 
through her film of tears like sunshine dispers¬ 
ing storm clouds, her soul instantly becoming en¬ 
thralled. 


SPRINGTIME 


191 

“You really would like it?” he questioned, his 
eyes starlighted. 

“Yes,” she replied, with deep feeling, keeping her 
countenance aslant. A heaviness oppressed her as 
she pondered: Why must she hide herself away 
from the world in order to possess the man she 
loved? Since they truly loved each other, why did 
man’s laws thwart them and transmute all the gold 
of it into dross? 

The doctor was noting again what a beautiful 
bloom of womanhood she was. The thought of pos¬ 
sessing her in that harborage they contemplated 
caused his arms to tighten in hungry fondness. He 
refrained from further speech a moment, his eyes ob¬ 
serving that she was thinking out the procedure their 
project involved; then he interposed, “I fear I 
shan’t have time to attend to the details of it my¬ 
self.” 

“Oh, that wouldn’t do at all,” she laughed wryly, 
avoiding his eyes. “Our Doctor Rumford is too 
famous among the gentry, also too well known by 
the busybodies and gossips, for him to go out seeking 
me a home. I’m afraid there are already some who 
know too much,” she deprecated anxiously. But 
noting he had no comment, and being seized with a 
merry mood, she voiced, “No, you must leave that 
to me, and thy princess will find a place as hidden 
and unfindable as the Garden of Eden—and it shall 
be our mundane paradise regained, an enchanted, 
moonlighted love bower—or shall I say lamp- 
lighted?” she questioned merrily. “Come, we are 


192 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


standing here like living statues,” she protested; 
“let us sit upon my divan.” 

He released her, an act ever consummated with 
something of his boyhood sensations in relinquish¬ 
ing an ensnared bird again to the forestland; she 
was composed of all that warmth and fluffiness, but 
in much greater measure. His soul was ravished as 
he watched her every sensuous movement while she 
under the spell of her mischievous thoughts gayly 
preceded him to the divan before the fireplace. As 
he stepped forward he took out his fountain pen 
and check book. Seating himself beside her, he 
spoke, “You will need some money—for furniture, 
rent, and so forth.” He scribbled with his custo¬ 
mary prescriptive rapidity and semi-legibility upon 
two of the slips. 

“Yes,” she agreed, smiling—the sight of money 
always made her laugh. “I will attend to every¬ 
thing.” 

“There,” he declared when finished, “is one for 
our haven and another—for you.” 

Both were written in four figures and tears of 
protest leaped into Freda’s eyes. “No, no! I can’t 
take it! I mustn’t—I want just you !” 

“It is best you take it while I have it to give,” 
he teased half earnestly. “For unless my practice 
resumes its former activity I may not always be able 
to help you so much.” Thus was beginning already 
to sound within him the deathknell of their hopes 
though he was but superficially aware of it. 

“It is not money I want,” she persisted, facing 


SPRINGTIME 


193 


him and mounting her knee upon the divan, “but just 
you!” She impulsively shot her arms around his 
neck and smothering with rippling laughter kissed 
him full upon the lips with such prodigious warmth 
and oppressiveness that she nigh strangled him. 
She restrained her merriment sufficiently to tender 
her reason for condescending to accept his gift. 
“Winter will be coming only too soon and I am go¬ 
ing to get a moleskin coat with this!” she rejoiced. 

He drew her warm loveliness down beside him. 
He wondered was there any limit to her varied emo¬ 
tions, leaping from a deluge of tears to this oppo¬ 
site extreme, the mirth of a babbling brook. Her 
soul was prone to soar as suddenly from this tender 
humor to sweet sublimity. Not so was it with 
Luella, who maintained an even state of congealing 
iciness except when she gave lip to her spleen. 

Freda cuddled beside him awhile, happy in feel¬ 
ing that strong arm about her; until a line of thought 
she had previously touched on recurred to her and 
she spoke broodily, “I am glad, Sidney, that it is 
you whom I love. We seem inclined to select our 
mate from our companions, whether the chosen one 
be good or evil. Tell me, what do you think of love 
—what it is.” 

“Why,” he responded, more impelled to answer 
jovially from his heart than from the lore of his mind 
as he studied the fire flames. “I think mystery is the 
irresistible lure of it—the very body of romance. 
Woman personifies enigma. She attracts us as does 
the sea. As we sit beside the ocean waves we are 


194 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


dimly conscious of the mystic nature of that vast 
expanse that touches far distant shores. In the 
Amazon’s sultry, man-extruding verdant jungle it af¬ 
fords play, drink and food to gaudily plumed birds, 
ferocious beasts and powerful reptiles. At far dis¬ 
tant points it floats the fantastic Chinese junk, the 
South Sea islanders’ rude outrigger canoes, the white 
man’s great shipping, dashing anon against the dark 
cliffs of Norway’s fiords or the foggy mid-sea islands 
of the seals, roaring in and out of caves, or flowing 
beneath stupendous ice fields mounted by polar 
bear, walrus and penguin—enmeshing the earth as in 
a web and binding all life together.” 

Freda sat with her hands clasped over her knee 
as she listened to his discourse. He warmed to his 
subject and continued mirthfully: 

“Water is the birthplace of all life, and woman 
was born of the sea; she is the reproducing agency of 
the greatest form of life. In her are potentialities 
surpassing all the myriad sea-created things. Her 
soul conceals treasures rivaling the jewels in the 
watery depths. She has been guilty of as many 
wrecks of man as has the sea. It is this great puis¬ 
sance of her which beautifies her and holds her en¬ 
thralled mate beside her.” A smile wreathed the 
doctor’s lips as he delivered this amused comment. 

“I think you have a penchant for the sea. You 
remember our last argument concerning the pebble 
and the drops of water. But tell me more about— 
love.” 

“Aye, as the sea is akin to all of us so is woman 


SPRINGTIME 


195 


akin to man. Far more intense is his hunger for her. 
Man’s love is explorative, ever discovering new 
treasures in the depths of a woman’s soul—just as 
I am ever being enchanted by new revelations of the 
riches in this golden angel of mine. Unhappy the 
man, however, who feels that all has been revealed 
to him; he calls love ‘mush’,” the doctor laughed, 
“just as he considers water merely a liquid com¬ 
posed principally of two volumes of hydrogen to 
one of oxygen, if he has that much learning. To 
him woman is utterly material; he is perhaps antag¬ 
onized through concentrating too much on the me¬ 
tabolism of the human animal. Just as when gaz¬ 
ing at the sea he sees only water, so in looking at a 
woman he sees only a creature of flesh. He is shut 
up in the dark of his own lack of insight. His soul, 
Freda, does not reach out into the vastness of the 
cosmos, the extent, origin or destiny of which no 
man knows. The scoffer has no conception of what 
he is; he takes birth and death as common incon¬ 
sequential matters, although in his heart is the un¬ 
heeded fear that there may be something after 
death. If he would but awaken to the grandeur of 
these rolling ages of eternity, to the sublime beauti¬ 
ful mystery of this infinite creation, to this joy of 
the scholar!” The doctor stared reflectively into 
the yellow flames of the embers as he continued: 

“He sees fine clothes on the slavey and is as¬ 
tounded at the transformation. Let him perceive in 
his wife, despite her faltering imperfect utterance, 
that soul garment which is the essence of eternity. 


196 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

Her soul is life eternal; she is the embodiment of 
the unknown.” Again the speaker paused, resting 
his chin upon his hands above his knee-supported 
elbows and staring more dreamily into the fire 
depths, then pursued: 

“Let our mocker get out under the stars and 
vision the sublimity of the celestial space, meditate 
upon the import of those worlds yonder, upon the 
beauty of the terraqueous globe upon which he 
stands, then think of his wife, who is an essential 
link in this endless chain of life and who is made of 
the very substance of creation. She is part of this 
colossal drama in spite of him. Life is the great¬ 
est of all mysteries, and woman is life!” 

“You didn’t finish that,” laughed Freda, who had 
been drinking in with intense happiness his every 
word. 

“And my Freda is a woman!” he asserted, divin¬ 
ing her thought and smiling as he drew her closer. 

“Yea, in this form was I born, my man of big 
thoughts!” she bantered. 

He remained quiescent a moment, revolving in 
his mind her original declaration concerning one’s 
love selection, and he descended to more worldly 
views. “A man loves by preference,” he com¬ 
mented. “But the emotion of this love, of this sex 
attraction, is not the ultimate purpose.” 

“Yes, I have observed that you love children— 
seven!” 

There was an expectancy in her tone that caused 


SPRINGTIME 


197 


his brow to cloud. She had guessed rightly the 
worship he accorded his brood of youngsters. 

She snatched a kiss of his cheek and laughed gayly 
as she cried, “You must know that I love children, 
else why did you suppose I was so anxious to get 
with those youngsters of yours? I saw some of 
them playing in the yard. I suppose I am accept¬ 
ing a certain dancer's philosophy in the manner in 
which I am choosing my mate—but I would hate to 
have such a terrible fate before me as befell her and 
her beautiful little ones!” 

Her remarks were dampening the doctor’s spirits, 
but she seized his face between her hands and 
pressed such a ferociously gay kiss upon his lips 
that he must needs be enlivened. His reciprocating 
clasp was so tight that she gasped, “I think you must 
be becoming an octopus, the way you place that 
arm around me!” 

“Everything is settled, then,” he bantered, aris¬ 
ing to depart. 

“Yes! And in our little home my kisses for you 
shall be as countless as the stars!” She flung her 
arms around his neck tightly, pathetically. 

With the flames of mischief dancing in his eyes he 
asserted, “And mine for you shall be as inexhaustible 
as the seconds of life!” His eyes gleamed with 
such fire and his arms gripped her with such crush¬ 
ing force that she laughingly protested: 

“I fear you are metamorphosing into a satyr!” 

Both undeniably wanted all that is good in life, 


i 9 8 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


but Fate had cheated and misled them and the 
beauty of their love they would not relinquish. The 
physician had started out simply seeking rest, re¬ 
cuperation, but now his purposes were indefinite, his 
path uncertain. A moment later he was in his wait¬ 
ing car. 

Freda lay that night thrilled by a keen excite¬ 
ment. Her soul was steeped in a medley of tears 
and laughter. Sometimes chilled with fear, she as 
quickly grew feverish for the consummation of the 
doctor’s project, for the creation of this love bower 
in which she would dwell with him, the achieving of 
this dearest wish. 

On the morrow she attired herself in raiment of 
subdued chameleon hues yet gayish mode, then 
started forth upon her initial house hunting. She 
had in mind the sort of place she thought would 
please him. In a not far distant city of goodly size 
a most courteous real estate agent conveyed her 
about in his car. The repeated disappointments 
simply fanned the embers of her ardor. Until in 
a tree shaded thoroughfare of sumptuous and green 
embowered residences she found her ideal. It was 
a second story apartment in a handsome yet not 
overlarge building. There must not be too many 
juxtaposing neighbors. The windows afforded a 
view of that superb verdure of lawn and awakening 
trees including evergreens. The rooms were of 
just the proper shape to meet her ideas, especially 
the parlor, which was angular and sufficiently spa¬ 
cious. The house having round, towerlike corners, 


SPRINGTIME 


199 


this curved space in the room afforded a splendid 
place for the piano, windows at either side giving 
a perfect light with none to glare into her eyes. 
Moreover, this structural eccentricity gave the 
chamber just the coziness of romantic seclusion 
which she and Sidney craved. She rented this 
apartment on condition that a deal of redecorating 
and improving which she detailed be executed. The 
agent gracefully acceded to her wishes. Who could 
deny so fine a young personage? 

With this much accomplished, Freda was trans¬ 
ported. Ecstatic is the joy in the initial obeying 
of the nesting instinct, the building of the first home. 
As she trod the stone path bordered by green sward, 
her joyous eyes espied in an ornamental cedar a 
small feathered creature weaving its leaf embowered 
snuggery, pulling and thrusting the tiny twigs and 
straws like a little master builder. And in self- 
consciousness she thought of the palpitating ecsta¬ 
sies that must be thrilling this wee mite of the wood¬ 
land. Nevertheless she believed that her own flame 
of joy was the greater; she felt fairly walking upon 
air. She reentered the automobile of the agent, 
who, although he was a tall, staid grayish man thor¬ 
oughly all business, courteously drove her to the 
shopping district. There she procured a taxi to at¬ 
tend her needs. 

Throughout the remainder of that afternoon after 
she had partaken of a light luncheon she went to 
and fro, from store to store and back again, tenta¬ 
tively accepting much but subsequently rejecting most 


200 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


of it, retaining and purchasing only such furnishings 
as would blend most impressively in the general 
scheme of her eccentric love nest and meet the doc¬ 
tor’s approval. To secure advice she repeatedly 
called him up on the telephone, tremulous each time 
lest Mrs. Rumford should chance to answer the call; 
but the doctor always came to the receiver, per¬ 
haps because he kept strict watch upon the instru¬ 
ment after her first call. To his passionate im- 
portunings that she come to him Freda responded 
merrily in the negative, vowing that he would not 
see her again until that sacred hour when all would 
be ready, when he must come to her wholly like a 
bridegroom to constitute himself her lord and mas¬ 
ter. She would not even tell him of the exact 
whereabouts of their eyry. Many of her hours 
were filled with misgiving though her doubts were 
always overcome by the irresistible lure of her love 
for him. 

Moreover, she astutely refrained from informing 
her mother of her project until, after several days 
spent most gayly thus in shopping and in supervis¬ 
ing decorators and hired furniture setters, she had 
everything accomplished to the fullest of her ideals. 
She informed first her waiting lover, and they ar¬ 
ranged that he should call for her that night at 
her mother’s home, Freda still persisting in main¬ 
taining the secrecy of the den’s location lest he con¬ 
coct some mischief of his own that would disrupt 
her contemplated procedure. It was late that after¬ 
noon, when her mother had returned home from her 


SPRINGTIME 


201 


vexatious bit of shopping, that Freda broke the 
news to her. It occurred in the mother’s bedroom, 
which like the greater part of the house was fur¬ 
nished and decorated in old ivory, as if perforce this 
lady like a mentally wicked voluptuary wished to 
be like the moon and present always an appearance 
of whiteness and purity whilst hiding her unchang¬ 
ing blackness. 

Freda, after telephoning the doctor, had repaired 
to her own bedchamber and whilst exerting all her 
art to secure the utmost perfection of toilet had 
been listening for her mother’s advent. And when 
that personage had finally arrived with her custom¬ 
ary commotion, the daughter had gone to and en¬ 
tered her room. 

“Mother dear, have you any left of that lovely 
Pinaud cologne you are so fond of?” 

“Or do you mean the one you are so fond of?” 
twitted Mrs. Warner. In her vexation and ill hu¬ 
mor she was about to voice her remonstrance against 
her daughter’s incursions but she let her diatribe sink 
within her as she became enravished in viewing this 
resplendent golden jewel of youthful womanhood 
before her. The mother heaved a deep sigh of con¬ 
tentment despite her fatigue. Interspersing her 
voicings with short laughs, she exclaimed: 

“I’ve had the most curious experience to-day. 
You know that old fossil Dulser; in counting out my 
change I am sure he mistook a century for a ten! 
There it is!” She flung the note upon the dresser. 
“Oh—the cologne is there upon my vanity case,” 


202 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


she spoke, recollecting and motioning with her hand. 
Then she gushed, “And that wine-bibbing cigarette 
fiend Allerton—the scamp!—got down upon his 
knees to me and begged me to marry him—the 
poor fool! But I believe the artful devil was simu¬ 
lating it all the time! Just drunk.” 

“But I am going to have a greater experience 
to-day,” ventured Freda nervously. 

“Truly?” breathed Mrs. Warner inquisitively. 

“I don’t mean quite that way,” faltered Freda. 
“The doctor and I—have furnished a home for our¬ 
selves.” 

“What!” the mother gasped. She swung around 
upon the younger one and fairly screamed, “Are 
you insane? How dare you tell me this!” The 
speaker’s face had turned ashen. Her body was 
trembling. 

“We are going there to-night,” said Freda in¬ 
cisively. 

The mother stood petrified, glaring at her offend¬ 
ing and unfilial offspring. But quickly seeing that 
Freda was inflexible in her determination, the un- 
happy parent turned back to her bureau and her 
fingers toyed nervously with her silver mounted 
comb, her brain whirling. Almost instantly she 
switched round again and with anger in her eyes 
demanded: 

“Where is this place?” 

“I shan’t tell you. I wish to be all by myself 
and undisturbed,” asserted Freda. 

“You little ingrate! You have a weakness of 


SPRINGTIME 


203 


character that you never could have inherited from 
me! You must have gotten it from your weak- 
willed dupe of a father!” 

“Mother dear, tell me—what became of my 
father?” Freda implored. 

“You little minx! That is none of your busi¬ 
ness!” vociferated the raging woman, remembering 
the incompatibility that had bestirred Mr. Warner 
into taking his departure. 

“It is no matter now,” Freda replied quietly. “I 
have found the one man supreme, who shall take 
father’s place and who shall be all the world of men 
to me! And though Fate has prevented us from 
enjoying the sanctioning ceremony, the people’s man¬ 
date, I feel that in the sight of God we shall be liv¬ 
ing in perfect purity!” Freda spoke with raised 
face, exalted. 

“Oh, tommy-rot!” rasped the mother. “You’ll 
get an awakening swift and unmistakable. This is 
not at all what I was planning. Tell me, will he 
take you out in that society you are ravening for? 
No! Would they receive the likes of you? No! 
Will you enjoy the respect of your hypocritical 
neighbors? Will you be his real wife? And when 
he tires of you will you own his better love, his re¬ 
spect? And when you are alone and thinking of 
that wife who has every one’s respect and his— 
and you are thinking of those children who enjoy 
his finer love and have a right to it, will you be 
contented with your misery and your brats, existing 
in exile and held in odium? I think not.” Mrs. 


204 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


Warner embosomed no hope that immediate disil¬ 
lusionment would take place but felt and rightly 
that her words would eat like wood worms into 
Freda’s soul. In fact, the elder with her acute 
vision saw that these maggots were already germi¬ 
nating, for there were little twitchings about Freda’s 
mouth, precursors perhaps of some new decision or 
some projected fatal occurrence. Assuming an air 
of dispassion the berating marplot continued: 

“Did I not know my statements to be facts, I 
might plead with you to desist from this venture. 
And when your hour of trial comes I ought to punish 
you severely! You have been an ungrateful daugh¬ 
ter and I hope and pray that you do get most glo¬ 
riously burnt—that you may at last come to your 
senses and realize that mine is the true philosophy 
of life. You should trust to me, your mother, im¬ 
plicitly.” 

Freda stood like one stunned, her brain in the 
grip of new thoughts—doubtings! 

“Young Hildebrande is pestering the soul out 
of me,” Mrs. Warner pursued, “by always popping 
in when I’m here and you’re out. And Roy Scottie, 
I’ve looked up his family and they are just rolling 
in money! They can give you an honorable mar¬ 
riage. But I suppose that while this whim of yours 
lasts you will not condescend to see any of 
them. . . .” 

The listener’s bloodless lips tightened and she 
whipped forth, “Not one—ever!” 

“Well, it’s too bad,” demurred the mother, pro- 


SPRINGTIME 205 

ceeding with the changing of her costume to indoor 
attire. 

Freda remained silent, these new arguments cast¬ 
ing her mind into a limbo between the good and the 
bad. She did not know what course to take and 
her soul was in a tremor. 

“He isn’t good enough for you, my Fredie! 
You will have to share him and you should take only 
the man who can give you all! You’re a jewel too 
sweetly golden and priceless!” The speaker’s eyes 
grew wide with sparkling ravishment as she gazed 
at the beauty of her daughter. “Now, there’s 
Bilker . . .” she persisted. 

“Oh, his name fits him like an old shoe—true 
and ugly,” Freda merrily derided, then exclaimed 
bitterly, “I tell you I am through with them for¬ 
ever! The doctor is coming for me to-night. And 
I am going to my room to finish preparing.” She 
placed her hand upon the doorknob. 

“Wait,” Mrs. Warner admonished. “That poor 
blockhead must be wall-eyed in his egotistic crav¬ 
ing not to see that this thing will be his finish! I 
tell you, you mustn’t do it!” There came a sudden 
knock at the door. It was the maid, who when 
summoned to enter turned to Freda and announced: 

“Doctor Rumford is here.” 

Freda was immediately whirled into a furore of 
emotion; her eyes star-lighted she requested, “Jane, 
please, go to my room; I may need a little help 
with my wraps.” 

Mrs. Warner stood trembling with big tears roll- 


2o6 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


ing down her cheeks. Freda looked at her most 
kindly and said: 

“Well, good-bye mother dear!”—she imprinted a 
kiss upon the maternal brow and added, “Remem¬ 
ber that in my heart I love you—and I will tell you 
soon where we are.” With a parting little squeeze 
of the parental forearm she laughed brokenly and 
hastened pell-mell from the room—leaving Mrs. 
Warner standing there desolate, strengthless, more 
alone than ever before in her life. Since her hus¬ 
band had left her she had no one dear to her ex¬ 
cept this child whom she had been endeavoring to 
keep near her as a prop and comfort. But her 
bubble with its phantasmal content of scenes of ex¬ 
pected home life had burst, vanished all except the 
bitter memories. In this moment she felt only her 
desolate loneliness. 

Meanwhile Freda, all aflutter, dashed along the 
hall to her bedroom. Gaining her mirror, with the 
help of the cheery maid she fussed a few excited 
seconds with the details of her person and raiment. 
During this hot-flushed haste she revealed to the 
girl something of her project, feeling an intimate 
confidence in her, and she secured this fond maid’s 
promise to come to her later—after the honeymoon! 
All other necessary apparel, toilet articles and fem¬ 
ininity’s knickknacks had gone to the harborage. 
So gripped by her flurry of ecstasy was this wed¬ 
dingless bride that she was but remotely conscious 
of regret at leaving this home. Her fussing and 
preening completed, she left the chamber and ran 


SPRINGTIME 


207 


down the stairs and into the parlor. She frenziedly 
flung herself into his arms, her lips parting. “Oh, 
Sidney!” And she wept from her utter joy. He 
folded her to him, his fibres permeated by a greater 
happiness than he himself had foreseen. Nor did 
any one intrude into that parlor whilst they stood 
thus in the yellow brilliance of the tall golden piano 
lamp. Freda seemed possessed of an aureola. 
And he seemed the sculpturesque personification of 
virility as he pressed her to him tightly and fondly 
in this instant of intense feeling. For a second 
or two they remained speechless, then Freda, her 
eyes sparkling through tear mist, revealed to her 
lover a wee bit concerning their nest, principally 
its whereabouts. 

Mrs. Warner was tempted to go down and re¬ 
monstrate with this doctor personage who was pos¬ 
sessing himself of her daughter so shamelessly, but 
she withheld herself in the confidence that it was a 
crazy doing which would not last long anyway. 
She stood still with her back leaning on the bureau, 
her soul steeped in forlorn misery. She was pa¬ 
tiently hoping some thwarting circumstance would 
bring her daughter back to her, but as the noiseless 
seconds passed she became more vividly aware that 
her dearest treasure had gone out of her life, had 
left her there in endless miserable loneliness. 

Meantime, the departing couple had stepped 
forth in an expectant saddened joy into the waiting 
limousine. 


CHAPTER X 


OLD ROSE AND IVORY 

W HEN the two lovers safely ensconced in 
the automobile were whirling along the 
dark roads they were beset by such 
tremulous emotions as disturb most bridal couples. 
Freda was filled with little fears lest her selection of 
furnishings and her arrangement of them in their 
mystic donjon of love should not please his superior 
esthetic taste, and she wondered would her little 
program for this evening suit him. He experienced 
trepidation in reflecting upon wdiat was ahead of 
him, especially the tribulations this doing would en¬ 
tail. 

They sat unusually quiet, just waiting. They 
were enthralled by their sensings of each other in 
this enchantment of the darkness and their mystic 
journey. They were two honeymooners just come 
from the saddest, briefest of house weddings, cere¬ 
monyless ! There had been no bower of flowers, 
no minister of God, no commenting upon the bride’s 
white-veiled loveliness, no tumultuous exit amid rice 
throwing and gay hurrahs and well wishing, and no 
placarding of the bridal coach nor tying of boots to 
it, nor any final cheer. But who shall say that 

Freda was any less a wife in her determination to 

208 


OLD ROSE AND IVORY 


209 


live in purity and observe utterly her unspoken 
rather Mormon marriage vows? The doctor, of 
course, had his limitations in this respect in his bond¬ 
age to Luella, but which he felt would henceforth 
be but ceremonied concubinage. Its existence, how¬ 
ever, must needs detract from Freda’s happiness and 
her strength of resolution. 

When the driver stopped at last before the house 
designated, his passengers alighted. The doctor 
paid the bill and dismissed the man. Whereupon 
Freda in her laughing impetuosity enclasped her 
soft hand in that of her companion and fairly 
dragged him up the grass-bordered stone pathway. 
In his initial glance the physician observed the come¬ 
liness of the building but gave no token of his feel¬ 
ings regarding its unholy import. He could not 
shake off a dispiriting consciousness besetting him. 

When a moment later they were actually in the 
parlor of their harborage his eyes swept this prin¬ 
cipal chamber in swift glad appraisement of her ex¬ 
travagance. The coloring of most everything was 
a dusky somber red. Freda first bent in agitation 
at the fireplace, struck a match and set fire to the 
tinder to ignite the logs. Then she pressed buttons 
turning on the current of some eccentric blood hued 
lights, some of them parts of uncanny furnishings 
such as the questioning eyes of two owls that were 
lifelike sentinels pedestaled before what seemed at 
first a Turkish cozy corner but which the doctor dis¬ 
covered was a canopied throne whereupon squatted 
a life-sized Chinese idol or joss. Its eyes shone 


2io WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


with an unearthly luminosity yet its features pos¬ 
sessed a subtile laughter. In observing it the doc¬ 
tor breathed a deep “Ah!” 

Whereupon Freda laughed and said, “My god of 
happiness to watch over us—and ours!” 

“I guess it must be some celestial’s conception 
of the marriage god Hymen,” her companion re¬ 
turned, smiling. 

The whole chamber was so heavily draperied with 
dull red mantles and hangings as to seem almost 
a special love den belonging to the favorite of some 
voluptuous Sultan. Upon the walls, as the doc¬ 
tor’s roving eyes noted, were copies of superb paint¬ 
ings, scenes at the baths of India, a copy of Moretto 
da Brescia’s “The Entombment of Christ,” and 
among others one of Jusepe de Ribera’s “Lucretia,” 
that beauteous victim of unbridled concupiscence de¬ 
picted with breasts and side exposed and dagger in 
hand in that fatal instant ere to gain freedom from 
her ravished and polluted body she plunged the 
death-dealing weapon into her heart. 

Freda, observing the doctor’s eyes to be fasci¬ 
nated by this picture, crept close to him, her nerves 
crinkling with joy as she softly asked, “Why should 
she be so anxious to go to the God who had failed 
to protect her? I have placed that picture there to 
keep a staying hand upon myself.” 

By way of reply the physician obeyed his initial 
impulse since entering this beauteous chamber by 
seizing his unwedded bride, his matchless Chloe, into 
his arms, his substance pervaded in this embrace 


OLD ROSE AND IVORY 


211 


by strange sensations. He was indeed a vizier, a 
taker of many wives. What was legal and holy in 
Turkey, why so vile here, only a few leagues dis¬ 
tant and on the self-same globe? In that mad em¬ 
brace Freda felt as stifled as if she might be in the 
African jungle, and trying to pull her face away 
from him she gasped in laughter. In the doc¬ 
tor’s soul, however, may have been meandering 
some glowing remnants of the smouldering fire pro¬ 
duced by his recent whiskey toping, for he seemed 
loath to desist from this feasting upon her. The 
nectar she afforded was as inexhaustible as the sec¬ 
onds of her youth. 

The physician stopped presently, however, to con¬ 
tinue his scrutiny of the garnishments of this sanctu¬ 
ary of Cupid. The chamber in its entirety seemed 
some long wish of his soul conjured suddenly into 
being. In that rounded tower corner he observed 
the baby-grand piano finished in ivory and gold and 
embowered shoulder high amid rubber plants and 
softly spreading pinnate-leaved ferns, its crowning 
diadem a vase containing a magnificent bouquet of 
dark red American Beauty roses. Before the fire¬ 
place was an extraordinarily stupendous divan, red 
draperied and containing brocaded pillows of the 
same hue, an item of furniture most cozy and invit¬ 
ing. There was a bookcase replete with volumes 
which he felt sure were teeming with verses and 
masterprose divinely befitting their hours together. 
The ensemble including the very rugs beneath his 
feet evidenced the superfineness of her selective 


2 i2 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


faculty. All this he noticed in his swift brief 
glances and his soul was filled with such joy that he 
uttered merrily: 

“My beautiful golden Psyche—you are wonder¬ 
ful! It’s paradise!” 

“Do you like it?” queried Freda, her exhilarated 
eyes hungry for his complete approbation. She 
saw plainly, however, that there was in him some 
undispelled vestige of the cloud of sadness that was 
becoming almost characteristic of him. Actuated 
by unsubduable gayety herself she seized his hand 
and entreated: 

“Come, my darkly handsome lord and master, 
and let me show you all my handiwork in this se¬ 
cret love temple—where thou art to be enthroned 
as my companioning love god! For if I am Psyche 
reincarnated, then thou must be Eros. I rather 
think thou art my Marc Antony,” she deprecated, 
gazing laughingly into his eyes, “and I am thy poor 
Cleopatra who shall be left oft in loneliness to 
worry about thee and thy wife in Rome.” Plainly 
was this dispiriting thought implanted within her 
by her mother’s caution. Yet Freda’s eyes shone 
with lovelight as she dragged the doctor by the 
hand, she walking backwards and leading him 
toward the door admitting to the other chambers, 
her face flitted by the glow arising from the flicker¬ 
ing hearth embers. 

They crossed a little hall and entered a cheery 
room that contrasted strongly with that uncanny 
dull red den. This chamber was a combined dress- 


OLD ROSE AND IVORY 


213 


ing and sewing room, its walls frescoed and ornate 
with gold leaf. It contained articles peculiar to 
femininity and all of ivory cojor—a sewing table, a 
cheval-mirrored vanity case. u My own petite cham- 
bre” she gushed, “for Mr. Man, my hubby, must 
not behold the artful adorning of his lady-love, lest 
he suffer disillusionment! And here methinks I 
shall spend many lonely hours sewing upon clothes 
of many kinds.” She emitted more of that nervous 
laughter. Crossing the threshold into the next 
room, she pressed the electric buttons and lighted 
the way as she proceeded. 

This next was the bedchamber and done in the 
same ivory, the bed massively solid, yet daintily em¬ 
bossed with rosebuds, and cane paneled. Among 
its other requisites was a dresser—for him. Be¬ 
yond this was the kitchenette, quite the daintiest 
cuisine he had ever viewed or imagined to exist, it 
having costly gas and electric heaters of various 
sorts, a neat array of highly-polished utensils of 
copper and nickel, and a cupboard that had diamond 
shaped panels of beveled glass behind which 
gleamed a treasure in glistening cut glass and china- 
ware; the walls and appurtenances were done in the 
same ivory. This awoke the doctor from his amor¬ 
ous alcoholic reverie to the point of expressing his 
doubt that she had managed to pay for all this, that 
there must be a pretty large bill still owing; but he 
killed the thought inwardly with the decision, “No 
matter.” He did, however, venture to express his 
fear for the preservation of this immaculateness. 


214 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

She greeted this with a peal of merry laughter. 
“O critical master mine, leave that to thy humble 
servant. Am I not a woman and therefore pos¬ 
sessed of foresight; has not thy superwoman proven 
by her beauty that she is owner of Aladdin’s lamp?” 

By way of answer he sought to embrace her 
again, but she evaded him. They took a fleeting 
glimpse of the two remaining rooms, the bathroom 
and the maid’s room, the latter unusually large, 
elegant and cozy, the reason for which he was soon 
to learn. The little hall ran back to the kitchen and 
had another door leading to the public hall. He 
noted the absence of a dining-room and commented 
upon it, but she exclaimed gaily: 

“I converted it into the maid’s room there across 
the hall. I don’t want any ugly dining chamber 
wherein to make a business of eating like gour¬ 
mands! My hubby and I shall partake of our 
dainty repasts in our sacred parlor den whither thou 
must now return with me.” She leaned her golden 
head upon his shoulder as she concluded, “Hence¬ 
forth we shall be children of the Orient, idolatrous 
worshipers of the slant-eyed gods and of our own 
queer joss in particular.” 

“I’ve been an idolator for some time,” he vouch¬ 
safed, pressing his cheek to hers. “Since the mo¬ 
ment I first met you.” When she felt his arms 
stealing around her she leaped away exclaiming, 
“ ’Tis the hour! Come ! We must get back to our 
mystic den else like Cinderella we will spoil every¬ 
thing!” When they were again in that chamber the 


OLD ROSE AND IVORY 


215 


dumbwaiter whistle sounded and flurried with ex¬ 
citement she admonished her companion, “And now, 
O sovereign consort, you must be your own Punch 
a moment whilst I go to utter the magic sesame and 
lo! we shall have a wedding feast!” 

Following a moment’s absence she returned with 
a large silver tray full laden. She had been watch¬ 
ing a moon-faced clock and was glad to find the 
Sononia caterers punctual to the second. She set 
the heavy tray down upon a peculiar rug that lay 
upon the floor betwixt the shaggy reddish brown 
skin of a monster timber wolf and the base of that 
throne gloomily hung with dull red draperies and 
occupied by the monstrous god. The timber wolf 
fronted the fireplace and formed a footrest for the 
divan. Alongside the larger were two other curious 
rugs, upon which they would sit whilst feasting, 
with their limbs tucked under them. 

Whilst her fingers flitted a second in removing 
protecting napkins and setting the dishes right, 
Freda was thinking of the doctor’s attitude. She 
had expected to find him inspecting his new treas¬ 
ures, but to her astonishment she found that in this 
interval of her absence he had gone to the piano and 
was there now strumming some simple lay learned 
in his boyhood. Perhaps he himself was rather 
astonished at his whim, for it was something he had 
not done since his marriage. His own piano had 
lain idle so long that he was not sure but that its 
wires were rusted. The very atmosphere of this 
little love den seemed to inspire in him a fancy for 


216 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


love’s kindred harmony. Presently he would have 
Freda play for him. 

The handsome picture he formed sitting there, 
however, seemed to cap the climax of his bride’s 
excitement. All about her gave such a mysterious 
happy feeling. In the hunger to have this con¬ 
tinue always, her mother’s suggestion again began to 
awaken pangs of disillusionment in her. She was 
thinking with the rapidity of lightning of the in¬ 
security of it all, of its false foundation and of his 
wife’s more assured ownership. It was so impos¬ 
sible to maintain always the empyreal heights of 
rapture that heaven itself must needs eventually 
pall upon one. And when he grew a little tired of 
all this, would he go back heart and soul to his wife? 
Whilst maintaining this twofold life he could never 
face the world boldly—lest he should be discovered. 
He could never win to that great glory he pined for 
nor to that society which was the substance of his 
dreams. He must reap these things alone or be¬ 
side that other woman. As for herself she, Freda, 
comprehended that this chamber of love at best 
would become her tower donjon imprisoning her in 
banishment from her kind. And if he quitted her 
what then would there be left for her to live for? 
His wife was secure; she had the protection of 
man’s mandates and of the fear which these latter 
necessarily instilled in her lawful mate. A fiend 
whispered into Freda’s ear that she too must get 
the protection afforded by the doctor’s fear of man’s 
punishments. “There must be a way,” she reiter- 


OLD ROSE AND IVORY 


217 


ated to herself. Ah, there was a way! The in¬ 
spiration came to her like a red sunbeam darting 
through a murky sky. Her supersensitive soul went 
wild over this weird vista of thought. Anything, 
only to possess him as her very own! 

“I didn’t know you played,” she spoke with a 
strange little laugh. 

She dashed beside him and snatched a kiss, but 
with a ripple of mirth quickly avoided the octopus 
clutch of his arms. Instead, she seized a quantity 
of the roses from the piano vase and gayly strewed 
them upon the rugs, sprinkling them about the white- 
linened tray of thin china and silver vessels of 
goodies. She thereby magnified the exotic beauty 
of this Oriental setting, and the physician, who had 
followed her with his gaze and who was brilliant 
eyed with happiness in noting it all, breathed in soft 
exclamation: 

“Old ivory and red roses!” 

“Do you like the combination?” she queried, her 
laughing eyes filled with a strange light. Her face 
was flushed from a feverish nervousness that seemed 
akin to sorrow. “Oh, here everything is red,” she 
corrected. “But I shall sprinkle yonder chambers 
with them!” 

“The beauty of it all is matchless,” he breathed, 
softly purring, “I’ve always wanted all this yet never 
dared hope for it!” He seemed as one hypnotised. 

Although Freda had chosen the ivory instinctively 
and because she was used to it, perhaps in this mo¬ 
ment comprehension of its symbolic significance re- 


218 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


curred to her—unholy crimson amid the white of 
purity. The gleam in her eyes should have be¬ 
trayed her excitement to him. Although her festal 
preparations were completed, her emotion made eat¬ 
ing impossible. She was hungering for the fulfill¬ 
ment of her project conceived a minute since, but 
her better self was still staying her. As a means 
of seeking the granting of her wish she sped im¬ 
pulsively to that uncanny Oriental god and seized 
him irreverently from his throne although a burden 
nigh beyond her strength, which caused the doctor 
to arise with a proffer of aid. But she immediately 
set the thing down upon one of the seat mats. 

“And are we to have him for company?” queried 
the physician, smiling. 

“No, I’m replacing him!” she laughed in wild 
gayety. “Thou shalt be my God of Joy!” She 
swept to him, her eyes shining with firelight, her 
face peculiarly radiant. She seized his hand and 
cried, “Haste! Sit upon thy throne, my true Lord 
of Love!” He was steeped in the spell of the mo¬ 
ment and ready to obey her slightest whim. In 
an instant she had him majestically enthroned. 

“And shall we not eat our love feast?” he ques¬ 
tioned. 

“No! no!—after,” she asserted, standing hesi¬ 
tantly before him and gazing upon him, nervous, 
wild-eyed. 

“And what wouldst thou have of me?” he inter¬ 
rogated like a true potentate. 

Her heart seemed enveloped in rampant flames, 


OLD ROSE AND IVORY 


219 


her very soul afire as she fell into a suppliant at¬ 
titude upon her knees on the deep-napped red rugs 
gracing the thronal steps before him. 

“Aye!” she cried, her lips quivering with that un¬ 
natural laughter and her eyes asparkle, “I have, O 
Sultanic Master, a boon to ask of thee—a favor 
indeed!” She faltered as if unable to go on, whilst 
his eyes fastened upon her. “Oh, know thou me 
first,” she pleaded. “Thou hast heard me say I 
am a superwoman and that I possess Aladdin’s lamp 
—in proof, witness all this red fairydom I have con¬ 
jured up! But know thou that I am a witch of the 
black art, a necromancer, an enchantress—yet I 
would, if I could, use my ill-begotten powers to ex¬ 
orcise all evil from thee—to save thee!” 

“Thou art my jewel of purest gold! And thy 
genuflection unbecomes thee!” he responded, enter¬ 
ing into the spirit of what he fancied her fun and 
simulating sovereign sternness. “Arise! and let us 
be happy as the marriage bells ringing in our souls!” 

“Nay , I lied!” she cried. “I am a Circe come to 
drag thee from thy throne of purity, of righteous¬ 
ness ! Against my will I am the most wicked of 
sirens and seek to lure thee into the vast deep of 
immeasurable woe!” She was laboring under a 
keen excitement and fighting a terrific struggle 
within her,—her better self revolted by the evil 
suggestion that had come to her; yet the doctor was 
blind to that inner combat that was hurling her each 
moment into a higher state of excitement. 

“Not so; I am not one of the followers of Ulys- 


220 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


ses,” he dissented gravely. “I am a craven idola- 
tor; thou art my worshiped goddess and I am 
wrongly usurping thy throne. Thou art indeed 
my beautiful fetish, as Judge Harmon called thee!” 

“Yes, they are right,” she wailed, wringing her 
hands; “they condemn me, but they do not know 
what a fiend I am—that mine are serpent’s eyes 
that would lure thee, my breath the cockatrice’s in¬ 
cense to poison thee, my touch the scorpion’s sting; 
aye, mine are vampire’s lips sucking thy blood for 
the Devil’s cup! I am hell’s own darling! My 
soul would destroy thee, but my mind doth love 
thee. Nay, I am but a masked hag and all my 
splendor is but the covering of rottenness—I am be¬ 
coming a wanton; oh, God, a wanton!” 

“Freda —desist!” the enthroned one commanded. 
His eyes gleamed down upon her like fiery coals 
as he observed her attitude of self condemnation 
and frenzy that betokened the fearful tumult within 
her. 

But the flames within had attained that climax 
when walls fall; her superexcited frame quivered 
like these selfsame crumbling walls. With those 
ghoulish owl eyes casting their weird gleams upon 
her and with the hearth flames flickering upon the 
thronal draperies and enhancing her own golden 
loveliness—to him she extended a trembling hand in 
abject supplication and spoke feverishly, “Nay, I 
know that I am thy favorite!”—her senses were 
reeling—“Know thou then my wish—that I be made 
thy wife by ceremony—that we be married whether 


OLD ROSE AND IVORY 


221 


it be legal or illegal! I shall not betray thee— 
and I shall be a jewel to thee such as thou hast 
never fancied! I shall be true to thee!” she cried 
tragically, “as heaven is my witness—as I stand in 
the presence of God !”—she staggered up, her eyes 
wild, her blanched face turned heavenward as with 
all her soul she wailed vehemently, “Before Him I 
swear it!” The floor seemed to sink away beneath 
her and she crumpled into a heap upon the carpet. 

The doctor, who had been sitting petrified, was 
seized instantly with consternation and leaped in 
panic to her side. He frenziedly raised her head; 
from the floor. His first impulse was to crush her 
to him and fairly devour her with kisses, but his 
professional wisdom prevailed and he drew from his 
pocket a tiny vial which he pressed gently between 
her lips. Meanwhile his thoughts sped; he had 
gone this far. Having blood upon his soul and 
having planned adultery, there was nothing so fear¬ 
ful about this bigamy; in fact, he had become hap¬ 
lessly a minion of the Devil although in his own way 
he had striven always to be a follower of Christ. 
And what if there be offspring—they must bear a 
name and have baptism. Aye, they must have mar¬ 
ried parents sworn to each other in God’s ceremony. 
It was merely man’s presumptuous mandate that 
forbade it to them now. He concluded that the 
consorting of two human beings for the purpose of 
bearing young is always marriage in Divine eyes, 
that the children born are always God’s children, 
but that they must be sanctified by the holy rites and 


222 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


not relinquished to the Devil. And lastly that the re¬ 
striction to monogamy was a Christian error, else the 
religions of the keepers of harems, of the Mormons 
and of the other peoples who sanctioned polygamy 
were hell-begotten faiths. This, he vowed, could 
not be, for many of the followers of them were 
fine men, the equals or superiors of many Christian 
men. No, there was no mistaking Freda’s meaning 
and he determined that they would consummate it 
this very night. Necessity and madness are casuis¬ 
tic reasoners. The brains of the offspring of drunk¬ 
ards are not infrequently so constituted that alcohol 
disrupts their processes, undermines their chemistry 
in an incurable insanity. 

From her ministrant’s medicaments Freda’s eyes 
soon began to quiver and opened. “Oh, Sidney!” 
she cried; her artificial mood dissipated, “Can’t we 
marry? I’m not afraid, and you need never fear 
that I’ll reveal it.” 

Her slightly disarrayed locks gleamed like a 
golden crown against the red of the floor rugs. 
For answer, he pressed a light kiss upon her blood¬ 
less, trembling lips and declared, “We will go at 
once; it shall be done.” 

“Oh, Sidney mine!” she cried joyously; and she 
reached up her weak arms and gathered his unre¬ 
sisting head into a smothering embrace. 

“And if I harm thee,” she spoke in subdued gay- 
ety, “if I ruin thy hopes and prospects, why thou 
shalt have the comfort of me until the grave en¬ 
gulfs thee; and, as Gray says, ‘Can honor’s voice 


OLD ROSE AND IVORY 


223 


provoke the silent dust, or flattery soothe the dull 
cold ear of death?’ In death nothing can disturb 
one, and while we live we shall have the joy of our 
love.” 

The doctor’s mind, however, was beset by the 
graver needs of the moment, for, whilst she lay 
quiet upon the rug to regain her strength he—hun¬ 
gry man ever conscious of his vitals—nibbled at a 
few of the dainty edibles on the silver tray. But 
his mind was growing hot with his rapid fire of 
thought. 

Presently he rose and whilst she lay there fondly 
watching him he went to the telephone on the table. 
Calling a number he gave orders for a limousine, 
then he turned to his companion and in a few terse 
words enlightened her regarding his plan. 

Many hours afterward these two returned. They 
were somewhat haggard from nervousness and the 
fatigue of their journey. There were ineradicable 
scenes newly imprinted upon their brains; the flit¬ 
ting night scenes as they sped at the automobile’s 
maximum speed along dark roads, over black rivers 
and past gloomy homesteads until they gained a 
town across the state line. Questioning of a de¬ 
crepit night prowler had revealed to them the loca¬ 
tion of a minister’s residence, and therein the doctor 
with a forcefulness peculiar to him had succeeded in 
having his way, though deep in his heart he harbored 
misgivings. 

His subsequent excuse to Luella for his absence 


224 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

was contained more in the sharpness of his tongue 
than in any plausible reasons. His manner ignited 
Luella’s ire and in consequence dissipated her clouds 
of questioning. 

During the days that followed the doctor spent 
many hours with Freda. Contrary to his expecta¬ 
tions he found that although this companionship 
gave him strength and enlivened him while at work 
in his office, on the other hand it proved so fascinat¬ 
ing that he spent too much time away from his work. 
He gave Luella to understand that he had opened 
a distant office. 

During the spring the infatuated physician and 
Freda enjoyed whatever pleasures were afforded 
them; they took many automobile rides out through 
the awakening woodlands and upon the warmer 
days even picnicked in secluded woodland retreats. 
In other warm days of summer they motored to dis¬ 
tant beaches and bathed in the sea and dined and 
danced at the big hotels. The surgeon purchased 
a small car that they might make their journeys 
unaccompanied by a chauffeur, and to the garage- 
keeper he gave a fictitious name. They attended 
the ball games and all manner of summertime sport 
contests, kept out in the summer sun so much, in 
fact, that Luella must have wondered if his new 
office was roofless, he was getting so tanned. A col¬ 
oring that was heightened by his involuntary blushes 
whenever he caught his wife’s searching glance 
bent upon him. These moments of peril he easily 
aborted by waxing ireful over some trifle. His 


OLD ROSE AND IVORY 


225 


cloak of sternness formed a sufficient shroud for his 
heart’s evil, nevertheless his sense of misconduct 
oppressed him. 

After summer had waned and the colder months 
had come the doctor and Freda attended the opera 
in Boston, also the theatres, and they dined in the; 
gay palaces of the Parisian restaurateurs; in fact, 
they went to all those public resorts of pleasure 
whither Luella had shown a disinclination to accom¬ 
pany him. Moreover, Luella’s recluseness and her 
aversion to meeting people socially prevented her 
from hearing whatever green vapors may have been 
stealing abroad from the lips of those few persons 
who recognized the doctor and comprehended his 
escapade. The added circumstance that Luella usu¬ 
ally wore veils in public prevented many people 
from knowing her by sight and possibly many mis¬ 
judged Freda to be the doctor’s true and lawful 
wife. Perhaps others mistook her for a sister or 
some other near kinswoman. And, of course, there 
is always a certain number of worldly ones who 
glibly mistake a man’s wife to be his daughter, ut¬ 
tered especially for her hearing as a sort of en¬ 
ticing flattery. Nor was the dark-haired Mrs. Ru- 
band able to breathe to Luella any revelation t>f 
this arch villainy, for that good lady was now ta¬ 
booed by the one she had so cruelly burnt. In 
truth, one of Luella’s daily delights was that of 
watching this neighboring woman through closed 
shutters and of making ridiculing comments upon 
her to the house servants. Despite her quaint foi- 


226 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


bles, however, Mrs. Rumford was the sweetest of 
mothers and a treasure that her husband but little 
comprehended and poorly valued. 

In many instances Freda and her devotee were 
able to gain admittance incognito to the finer mas¬ 
querade balls in costumes devised by Freda. All 
told they lived such a life as made up in part for the 
loss of that respected admittance into this ultraex¬ 
clusive whirl of gayety which they craved. In their 
cozy love den they spent innumerable happy hours. 
Freda often accorded him treats of her exquisite 
artistry at the piano. He usually sat upon the di¬ 
van in these moments, sometimes pensively bending 
his gaze into the hearth flames and conning over this 
serious predicament and as often again merely sit¬ 
ting back and feasting his sight upon her golden love¬ 
liness as she sat there busily strumming in that pic¬ 
turesque setting. Her rendition of those piano com¬ 
positions was as sweet to him as might have been 
the music of the spheres. She sang to him her lit¬ 
tle love songs, the sweet pathos in her voice thrill¬ 
ing him until he was compelled by her bewitching 
lurefulness to arise and station himself beside her; 
and she even inveigled him into attempting to ac¬ 
company her. She discovered that his voice con¬ 
tained a pleasing richness, though it was subdued 
possibly from lack of cultivation; or perhaps it was 
softened by the deep sorrow clinging to him. 

And their love feasts—their agapas, as he per¬ 
sisted in terming them, were the very height of folly, 
gayety and beauty. Freda exhibited a penchant for 


OLD ROSE AND IVORY 


227 


all manner of strange edibles, to-day all Swiss dain¬ 
ties, yesterday all French, and the day before Japa¬ 
nese; she sought the particular foods of all nations 
and even had curious dishes prepared by the caterer’s 
chefs from recipes that were claimed to have come 
from such remote wild regions as the Solomon Is-> 
lands, or perchance from darkest Africa. 

Multifold is the fascination of a woman placed 
in a voluptuous den, and considering Freda’s natural 
beauty, her sensuous grace, and her ability to im¬ 
part through the medium of the baby-grand and 
of her sweet voice the captivating music of her 
soul, it were little wonder if the doctor went quite 
mad with happiness. So greatly her slave did he 
become that for two or three days at a stretch he 
must needs spend all his hours with her. When, on 
the other hand, Luella became too persistent for 
details of this new part-time office, her husband 
sharply ordered her to mind her own business. And 
having no means of knowing the truth Luella ac¬ 
cepted these conditions. 

The pleasures of the two lovers were not unal¬ 
loyed. Freda suffered incessantly from the con¬ 
sciousness that she was sharing him, a pang that Lu¬ 
ella was spared. The doctor was haunted by sev¬ 
eral fears and regrets. His crime of bigamy was 
a Sword of Damocles hanging above him. He was 
ever worried lest the manner of Patrick’s death 
should leak out. He was aware that Judge Harmon 
was working like a snake in the grass against him, 
preparing to strike and intent upon destroying 1 his 


228 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


prospects. Furthermore the doctor knew that his 
business was diminishing to a point insufficient to 
meet his twofold expenses. Daily neglecting his 
God-given studies and research work, he realized 
that he no longer was mounting to the pinnacle 
which had been his soul’s dream these many years> 
This double life made such things impossible of con¬ 
summation. So that, alas, again and again he got 
upon his knees in solitude and prayed God to de¬ 
liver him from his wife, and perhaps quite as fre¬ 
quently he was at the point of gaining that deliver¬ 
ance by one of the subtle means at his command. 
But in such moments he had recourse to liquor, which 
intensified his enmity but weakened his will. 

Those blank hours when he was away from her, 
Freda spent in utter loneliness. During many an 
hour she reclined upon the divan and stared into the 
hearth flames, her soul steeped in tears. When she 
went out alone she conducted herself with that utter 
trueness expected of and becoming a wife. But most 
of the time she stayed at home and as she waited 
throughout the lonely hours for his return she some¬ 
times played the piano softly; anon she lay upon the 
couch and dreamed of him, picturing where he might 
be and what he probably was doing, and again she 
would get her sewing basket and sew upon her 
finery and upon other garments—just waiting—wait¬ 
ing. 


CHAPTER XI 


CHRISTMAS 


O N Christmas morning Doctor Rumford arose 
in his legitimate domicile. After having 
laved and dressed he sat in disquiet in his 
bedroom, his head bowed between his hands. The 
burdens and evil forebodings oppressing him were 
manifold. A few weeks past had come his eighth 
child, a little girl. This babe was destined to bear 
the retribution for the sin of her mother. Despite 
all ministrations she remained weak, hovering at the 
border— 

The imminence of death in his home gave the doc¬ 
tor an intense heartache. For the birth of young 
produced in him at once the true fires of parenthood 
and consanguineous love, the sense of ownership and 
the pity of dependence upon him. He had never 
lost a baby and he vowed that he never would. 
Averse to fatalism he believed utterly in the efficacy 
of the right medicines in all emergencies. As the 
infant grew worse his love became deeper. 

Albeit he believed that he loved Freda intensely, 
on this sacred day he could not make himself go to 
her. He was convinced that he loved honor more. 
Perhaps he was merely sullen from too much John 

Barleycorn. Every mishap afforded excuse for an- 

229 


230 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


other dram. His petite love temple wherein Freda 
was the real joss had not proven as great a nepen¬ 
the as he had expected. These last few weeks she 
had lacked some of that sweet gayety and vivacious¬ 
ness which were needful to him. Instead of being 
a source of joy she had become a care, a creature of 
whims, who herself required sympathetic attention. 
On this day of days he could not —a lump seemed to 
rise in his throat as he sensed conclusively that he 
could not go to her. This was the greatest of the 
holidays, of the holy days, and he belonged in these 
sacred hours to his God-given little ones and to his 
rightful home. 

This was the anniversary of Christ’s birth, he 
reflected, the birthday of that Man begotten of 
virginity and the Holy Ghost, who had been sent 
hither to suffer crucifixion to free mankind of sin. 
Was he, the doctor, to suffer an analogous martyr¬ 
dom for his own sins? The birthday of the Prince 
of Peace! The Light of the World! The Holy 
Redeemer! It was too sacred a day to spend in 
what was virtually a seraglio with a woman that 
—unjustly albeit—would be proclaimed of the pro¬ 
scribed and who was perhaps outside of God’s pale. 
Was the doctor already tiring of his infatuation for 
the woman “predestined to him throughout the 
ages” that he was ready thus to leave her in this 
critical hour with none but the maid to bear her 
company; was he so selfish as to be unable to stand 
the least annoyance? 

It was plain that he had imbibed too much whis- 


CHRISTMAS 


33 * 

key. His brain was in the talons of a hold-over; in 
fact, he was keeping himself in a state of semi-intox¬ 
ication. There was no denying that he had a tre¬ 
mendous love for those wee youngsters given him 
by the Divine Hand. In this Christmas morn they 
afforded his only source of cheer. Luella had left 
her conjugal bed early as if she was bent on showing 
an utter coldness toward him. Perhaps it was sim¬ 
ply because she had entered that bed long before 
himself, but more likely it was her impelling wish 
to devote herself to her moribund infant. 

The practitioner arose from his cynical medita¬ 
tion. On this holiday he had been able to sleep 
much later than customary; not many persons would 
desire to undergo on this day of joy the sort of tor¬ 
ture he specialized in. As with his habitual soft¬ 
ness of tread he descended the stairs he thought of 
Freda’s latest petition, that he go away with her to 
some far shore where they would not be known; but 
he had dissented largely because he knew that his 
standing forbade such a course. He was too well 
aware of the newspaper scandal it would afford, of 
the odium in which he would be steeped; he might 
even be incarcerated in prison. It was only with in¬ 
consequential persons that such a deed went unno¬ 
ticed. Moreover, he had observed that in such af¬ 
fairs a disruption occurred as if the destruction of 
the elopers’ dream were inevitable, as though too 
thorough realization of their desires or too much 
companioning aroused hatefulness and an all-shat¬ 
tering distemper. 


232 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


To-day the doctor realized that he had a real 
fondness for his home. Upon it he had lavished 
too much to wish to leave it. Herein he wished 
to remain and herein he wished Freda to be. He 
was, in fact, ever visualizing her in these chambers. 
As a result of their many hours of sweet compan¬ 
ionship, during their intervals of separation she was 
clinging here about him like some smiling phantas¬ 
mal being. His thoughts bordered on blasphemy. 
Here in his home Freda should be, he vowed, but 
under no circumstances would he leave it or his chil¬ 
dren. 

When he stepped into the dining room a cheery 
scene greeted him. He discovered that the table 
was being laid with an old-fashioned Christmas din¬ 
ner. In the white and the crystalline dishes upon 
the costly linen was a resplendent array strikingly 
multicolored, the glitter of cut glass, the translu¬ 
cent white glow of thin chinaware, the dissimilar 
gold of oranges and bananas, the dainty tints usual 
to bonbons and cakes, the red blush of apples, the 
brown of nuts, the red of cranberries, the yellow of 
the celery; above all the appetizing brown of the 
turkey and that dark aspect of richness of the Eng¬ 
lish plum pudding—altogether a heap of goodies 
contrasting with the immaculate whiteness of the 
fine linen. He knew well Luella’s inherited prodi¬ 
gality upon this greatest of feast days, their New 
Year’s Day and Thanksgiving being celebrated in 
almost as lavish a manner. 

Even more attractive to him was the Christmas 


CHRISTMAS 


233 


tree looming brilliantly ornate in the corner where 
the previous evening it had been set up and adorned 
by Luella and the hired man Joh—the latter a 
peculiar vassal of the doctor of whom we shall hear 
more anon. Whilst the physician had been away “at 
his other office,” Luella and her servitor in that noc¬ 
turnal hour had strung the boughs most lavishly 
with the usual tinsels, colored balls, winged angels 
and all manner of scintillant and flimsy gewgaws of 
silver and gold, cresting all with a good-sized image 
of Kris Kringle. 

The scene was enhanced by the bevy of babbling 
children enwrapt in their toys at the tree’s base, 
toys which the doctor himself had purchased in an 
hour which he had set apart from those he devoted 
to Freda or to his business. When he entered the 
room, the children looked up and quickened his 
pulse by their concerted cry of “Papa!” They 
rushed to him excitedly, grabbed him by hands and 
legs and drew him to their toydom, each seeking to 
gain his complete attention. Dark-haired little 
Alice cooed: 

“Oh, Papa! see my lovely doll what Santa 
brought me!” 

“Pop! look at my electric engine!” shouted 
older Bartholomew, brushing her aside. 

“And see my fire engine,” piped flaxen-haired 
Franz, thrusting the diminutive fire fighter into his 
father’s hands. 

The doctor had gentle words and kisses for each 
of them. Elsie, the oldest, snuggled herself into 


234 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


his arms and was held close. She had an ability to 
discern his state of mind, which was a pleasing mys¬ 
tery to him. Once, when in a maggoty mood from 
drink, he had purchased a whip with which to cure 
Bartholomew of his innate refractory impulses and 
then placed it in a drawer through disinclination to 
use it, Elsie had ferreted it out and watching her 
opportunity had stuffed it into the kitchen range 
fire. But the father was wholly forgiving of these 
trespasses against him, because he discovered re¬ 
flected in this child many of his own fires of soul, 
and he now cuddled her slender form to him and 
pressing his lips on her white cheek he uttered softly, 
“My own God-given little girl!” 

She gazed up at his sad eyes and with her wise 
little smile asked, “Why, aren’t all children God- 
given?” She saw the hot tears flash into his eyes 
and she drew her arm tighter around his neck in 
affectionate sympathy; nor was this the only evi¬ 
dence he received of her singular mind-reading abil¬ 
ity. Little Zaida, with a child’s persistence, was 
dragging at his knees and seeking to attract his 
attention by calling “Papa! Papa!” When at 
last he took her little hand and paid attention, she 
pointed to the tree and lisped, “See! Santy give 
Papa Christmas present too—up there!” 

He glanced up and his eyes flashed with anger as 
he discerned what the article was—a half-pint 
flask of whiskey daintily wrapped—more of 
Elsie’s precociousness. He felt for a moment that 
some Nemesis must be following him and smiting 



CHRISTMAS 


235 


him through those he loved dearest. His sadness 
was quickly dissipated, however, by the merry din 
of their voices as they lauded their toys and the 
Santa who came whilst they slept. In fact, they 
created such a racket that Luella came in and com¬ 
manded, “Come, come, children; don’t make so 
much noise!” 

Thus was the doctor’s pleasure ended. On his 
wife’s face was a frozen discontent which he was 
quick to discern and to resent. The reason thereof 
was that he had given her a diamond studded 
watch, which through some freak had stopped. He 
also gave her a sewing basket which she considered 
intended as an insult in the face of their present half- 
estranged relations; for she intuitively compre¬ 
hended what attributes of hers he deemed to be 
shortcomings because they satisfied no need of his 
own. With her cold blue eyes she espied the ran¬ 
cor that she had aroused in him and she laughed to 
herself. 

“Come, children, dinner is ready—don’t let 
the things get cold!” she admonished, purposely 
ignoring him. 

The nurse picked up the youngest and the doctor 
lifted up the next in age, the birthtime of these 
youngsters ranging about a year apart. The tots 
were set in high chairs, the rest scrambling of them¬ 
selves in high glee to the table. The master of the 
house took his seat at one end of the table and 
Luella occupied the opposite one. She did the carv¬ 
ing. His attention was arrested by her mien. 


236 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

She cut and set upon a plate some luscious slices 
of the turkey and gave the dish to the maid to take 
to him, her voice and countenance filled with sneers 
and spleen as she spoke to the girl. He was not a 
man for holding in his wrath long. She saw his 
resentment rising. And she herself was tingling to 
give vent to her own umbrage. It did not take her 
long to create an opportunity. 

Elsie, sitting nearest her mother, chanced to hold 
her fork in a wrong manner; Luella struck the child 
viciously on the hand, exclaiming, “How many times 
must I tell you not to hold your fork that way!”— 
not that her motherly heart was in the blow; she 
was simply seeking an outlet for her pent wrath. 

The doctor’s face clouded and he exclaimed, 
“If there is to be any beating of the children I will 
do it myself!” 

His wife flashed him a look of scorn and sneered, 
“You mind your own business! Go get your work 
basket and sew!” 

“What’s the matter with that work basket?” he 
challenged tensely. 

“Oh, nothing, I suppose; and that worthless 
watch—I guess you picked that up in some 
pawn shop!” 

This last mentioned had cost him in the hundreds. 
His resentment flared beyond bounds. 

“I don’t think you are feeling well,” he voiced in 
sarcasm, knowing her to be hypochondriac. 

“There is nothing the matter with me except that 
I may not be here for long!” she retorted furiously 


CHRISTMAS 


237 


if pathetically. u But while I am here I won’t have 
you give me trashy presents! And I won’t have 
you ordering me or making little of me before the 
children and teaching them disobedience which you 
are always doing behind my back; and you are do¬ 
ing other things—which are unspeakable!” 

He merely flashed his darkened eyes at her, and 
though his meal had been hardly touched he arose 
from the table. The children had ceased eating 
and were staring in fear. The doctor saw that there 
was no pleasure for him here, and flashed into his 
mind the strong contrast between her conduct and 
Freda’s sweet and gentle deportment. This was 
Freda’s hour of need. He was sorry he had been 
so cruel. 

“You don’t have to accept my presents if you 
don’t wish to!” he snapped, “nor my presence 
either.” 

“Oh, you can go —where you’ve been going 
these many months! And you can take those 
trashy gifts with you! They are upon my dresser 
—and you can give them to whomever you please!” 
she finished cuttingly. 

In his frenzy he experienced an impulse to hurl 
something at her, but he simply whipped forth: 

“I will!” 

As he passed from the room he heard her say, 
“Come, children; eat your dinner and don’t mind 
that scoundrel!” 

In this moment of dark fury there is scarcely a 
deed he would have been incapable of enacting. 




238 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

There was but one path, however, that lay open 
to him—to go to Freda. Whilst he stood in 
his office reflecting, his eyes chanced upon his large 
Bible. It was of the proportion of an encyclo¬ 
pedia only much thicker, bound in dark leather 
with silver clasps. It was the pride of the children 
because of its beauty, size and sacredness. It was 
printed in large type and replete with magnificent 
illustrations. Gazing thus upon the Sacred Book 
Doctor Rumford was seized with an impulse to 
take it along with him and spend the afternoon 
reading it with Freda; not that she needed reform 
but that he himself did. In his heart he vowed 
that when her young came into being he would rear 
them as close students of the Bible. Heaven 
forbid that they should continue the generations 
of sin. 

The infuriated practitioner sought appeasement 
by drinking several fiery drams, which but increased 
his fury. Fetching some manila paper he went 
above stairs and secured the bejeweled watch and 
the dainty work basket. As if it were inhabited 
by a mischief-making fiend the watch immediately 
started going again. Luella in her distemper had 
wound it too tightly. Wrapping the basket and the 
Bible in the paper and placing the watch in his 
pocket the physician descended and made exit. 

As the physician was walking up the path to the 
home he shared with Freda a messenger boy came 
out. Instinctively feeling that the message was ad¬ 
dressed to himself, the doctor asked the lad con- 


CHRISTMAS 


239 


cerning it and discovered his intuition correct. He 
read, “Won’t you please come at once, Freda.” 
He handed the boy a dollar, then proceeded into the 
house. Whilst he was rattling his key in that door 
above stairs admitting to his love den, the door was 
opened by Mrs. Warner, Freda’s mother. Though 
white and visibly worried, she smiled in brief and 
forced geniality as she cautioned, “Hush!” 

She permitted him to pass into the room, the 
apartment having that peculiar stillness that tends 
upon woe and illness. “Strange,” she spoke, “that 
you should come now when we were just granting 
her wish and sending for you.” She laughed as she 
dared add, “Speak of the Devil and he’s sure to be 
with you! But you must be quiet—all is not well.” 
Her voice broke somewhat and she flashed at him 
a sideglance of hatred. 

With a curt “How do you do,” Doctor Rumford 
stepped further into that red parlor where he set his 
packages upon a chair and immediately forgot them. 

“I shouldn’t think you would want to go to her 
now,” Mrs. Warner persisted. “That other doc¬ 
tor might recognize you.” 

Doctor Rumford ignored her tensely-voiced sar¬ 
casm, however, by turning his back to her and gaz¬ 
ing unseeingly out of a window whilst he removed 
his gloves. The mother cast another sour look 
at him, then departed into the other room. Mixed 
with her present sadness and her bitterness against 
him, however, was an appreciation of her daughter’s 
selective faculty. Her every fibre sensed the fine- 


240 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


ness of the man, and she laughed as she discovered 
herself wishing she were young and fascinating 
again. She consoled herself with, “Puh! I could 
snare him now if I wished!” 

The doctor sat in solitude, his head bowed be¬ 
tween his hands, listening to a dull moaning emanat¬ 
ing from those forbidden chambers. He felt a pity 
for Freda rise up within him but he stifled it. He 
had less good will than ever for this woman whom 
he deemed to have mothered Freda evilly. In his 
dire frenzy he suddenly stood up and turning his 
face heavenward wished with all his soul that the 
wheels of time would turn backward and this whole 
thing be undone, or that he himself would be cast 
into a black oblivion, be it into hell fire! He did 
not care which occurred so long as he be freed 
from this unendurable snare. Cursing to himself in 
subdued fury, he paced softly up and down. Fi¬ 
nally he stopped at a window, and with his hand 
gripping tightly upon an inside shutter he stood 
waiting throughout an eternity—waiting! 

Meanwhile Luella’s children had been disporting 
themselves in huge merriment. When their father 
departed their Christmas spirit of gayety returned 
and they feasted with lusty appetites. Each dis¬ 
paraged the gifts of the others and praised his or 
her own; the girls formed a clique denouncing the 
boys, from whom came belittling statements about 
dolls, incurring answering retorts about old fire 
engines and such junk! And little Franz’s fury 


CHRISTMAS 


241 


waxed until he hurled his engine at Zaida, his chief 
tormentor, and missed her but demolished his fire 
fighter, the bunch of them scrambling from the 
table in the melee. It was not until clairvoyant 
Elsie went slyly aloft, then came tripping excitedly 
downstairs again, that a pall of gloom was lowered 
immovably down upon them. 

“Oh, Mama, Mama! I think baby’s dying! 
She’s all blue and quivering!” 

Mrs. Rumford gave an anguished scream—and 
darted for the stairs, shouting for the maid to fol¬ 
low. In less than a minute she snatched up her little 
babe. The child was in convulsions. Mrs. Rum- 
ford knew nothing of the affliction or of its remedy; 
she was smitten only with the fact that her baby 
was being wrested from her. Alice, the maid, sped 
into the bedroom and Luella, holding the quivering 
infant to her bosom, asked frantically: 

“Do you know where the doctor is? He must 
be down in the town somewhere. Hurry! Get 
your hat and coat—go and find him—my baby is 
dying!” 

“Yes, ma’am,” the girl responded dutifully; “but 
don’t you think you ought to get some other doctor 
and not wait?” 

“Oh, I don’t dare,” wailed Mrs. Rumford; “my 
husband would be very angry—hurry, oh, hurry!” 

The excited maid dashed to the stairs hatless, 
descended and scurried forth upon her errand. 

After a second’s thought, Mrs. Rumford gripped 
that precious burden more hungrily in her arms 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


242 

and ran with it pell-mell down the stairs to her 
husband’s cabinet. Clasping the infant in one arm, 
she lifted the “medical” bottle of brandy and man¬ 
aged to pour some of its unholy contents between 
the tiny livid lips. Brandy was her household 
panacea used for little Franz’s chills, for Zaida’s 
and Bartholomew’s fainting spells and for her own 
heart sinkings within the night solitude. Despite 
its ability to work evil the fluid seemed to be effi¬ 
cacious in this instance; for the quiverings of the 
small sufferer subsided and a more nearly normal 
expression and color returned into the soft face. 
Murmuring words of thankfulness to the watchful 
Good Shepherd, Luella uneasily carried her qui¬ 
escent treasure upstairs again. 

She had scarcely set it in the dark walnut crib, 
however, ere the warm wee body set atremble in an¬ 
other seizure that was more frightful than the first. 
Thrown anew into panic, the mother dashed wfildly 
to the door and half stumbled down the stairs in 
her mad hurry to get to the saving bottle. She 
poured between the quivering lips as much of the 
brandy as she dared, but noting no immediate result 
she frantically rubbed the convulsed body with the 
warming fluid. Her efforts were unavailing. Plot 
tears began to pour from her eyes and to wet her 
distorted face. 

She sprang up in a frenzy and sought to soothe 
the child by jogging it in that gentle manner charac¬ 
teristic of mothers. Yet each moment came stronger 


CHRISTMAS 


243 


realization that this little bud of her flesh was fast 
departing from her, her most precious possession 
because her youngest born, the tiniest and weakest 
and consequently the most dearly beloved. Had 
she known to place the baby in hot water she might 
have saved it. But she did not know then of this 
remedy. Nor did she know the true reason why 
her husband was absent. Her heart was pierced 
by remorse in the belief that she was reaping more 
punishment for her own follies, especially for hav¬ 
ing vented her anger upon her husband this sacred 
day and having destroyed his happiness. She had 
unthinkingly driven him from the fireside where he 
now was so needed. In her reeling soul was the 
frantic hope that the maid would soon return with 
him. Walking madly to and fro, she cuddled her 
baby frenziedly—waiting. 

None but a mother knows how terribly dear are 
the little hands that are ever reaching up to her, how 
precious is every atom of the baby born of her 
womb. Luella fondled her suffering offspring in 
wildest endearment, strewing it with hot tears. 
Whilst she combed her brain for a means of . help¬ 
ing it, she watched hungrily for some sign showing 
the spasms to be abating. None appeared. 
Plainly was the little soul going to the Mansions of 
God. “Oh, why didn’t her Sidney come home to 
her and to his baby!” 

The troubled baby eyes opened and looked up at 
her as if in its diminutive soul it was conscious that 


244 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


it was dying. Extraordinary knowledge seemed 
contained in that wide beautiful stare. Then the 
little eyes closed weakly. 

Luella took it nearer to the windows that she 
might study it. If she but knew what to do! If 
the doctor would but hurry to her! Again the 
baby eyes opened, revealing in their depths that ter¬ 
rific struggle of dissevering life, and again they 
weakly closed. As the frantic mother snuggled the 
child fondly to her she sensed that inner rending 
and it cast her into terror, into wild anguish. She 
started in panic for the door-—to go whither she 
knew not. She was fairly biting those little hands 
with kisses in her craving to retain the fast-waning 
life. 

Something caused her to pause, when for the 
third time those little eyes opened, their dire import 
petrifying the mother. That baby soul was look¬ 
ing at her with sweet recognition. If it were con¬ 
scious of her evil it had forgiven her. It was bid¬ 
ding her a last farewell, its eyes bright with a light 
divine, a gentle smile on the relaxing baby lips, in 
its look infinite hunger for its mother’s protecting 
embrace for this final journey and for her love. 
Then the soft eyes closed again. Its soul had as¬ 
cended to heaven. It had lived just long enough 
to win the love of its mother and had thereby ac¬ 
corded her a keener punishment than if it had given 
her only bodily pain. Its little face was sweet and 
angelic as if its distress had absolved it from our 
inherent mundane sin and left it holy. 


CHRISTMAS 


245 


The mother gave a wail of anguish and stood 
panting in indecision whether to pour more of the 
brandy between the congealing lips, or to succumb 
to the black swoon her trembling limbs and brain 
threatened, or to run in panic to the street and 
search for the doctor. She knew it was the doc¬ 
tor’s logic that there could be no premature death 
if one but had the right restorative. With a 
shriek of “Oh, Sidney!” she clutched the baby to 
her and again dashed for the door; she had scarcely 
taken two paces ere this entry door opened and her 
maid came in with a doctor. The girl had been un¬ 
able, of course, to find her master—but she had had 
the good sense to get another physician; though, 
alas, too late! 

The practitioner took the child from Luella’s 
arms. He saw at a glance that the baby was dead. 
Despite his inurement to such episodes his eyes 
dampened. And whilst he applied the death tests 
the maid at Luella’s command brought the latter’s 
hat to her. She was still possessed by the intention 
of seeking her Sidney, who could perform the mira¬ 
cle. 

The attending physician turned. “I’m afraid, 
Mrs. Rumford, your baby is beyond human help.” 
He was noting his listener’s abysmal sadness, and 
he was wondering upon the absence of her husband 
and the reason of their being unable to find him 
upon this sacred day. “It was not a perfect child,” 
he continued. “It must have been injured in some 
way.” He was merely thinking aloud, not aware of 


246 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


the wound he was inflicting. She wondered would 
she never be through reaping this punishment. 
The doctor concluded, “I have but a minute—was, 
in fact, on my way to an important case when your 
maid summoned me. I am sorry to see so beautiful 
a child called, and I sympathize with you in your 
suffering.” He patted her reassuringly on the arm. 
“Come, come, Mrs. Rumford—we have to bear 
these things.” Pointing a finger reverently upward, 
he said gently, “you must have faith in Him! And 
give your thoughts and care to your other children; 
there is no fold but that loses at least one little 
lamb. I presume your husband will wish to take 
care of the funeral arrangements, and as I am in 
haste I will bid you good day.” He bowed defer¬ 
entially and departed. 

When he was gone, Luella went to and sorrow¬ 
fully enfolded her baby's mortal flesh within its 
white coverlet as gently as she had done in its liv¬ 
ing hours. And bearing it with only the pretty 
face exposed, serene and beautiful, she walked to 
and fro—awaiting her husband’s return. 

Meanwhile Doctor Rumford was steeped in that 
other tragic episode. His soul was turbulent. 
Why had he been given the power to be a factor in 
the birth of this child? The hallowed ceremony 
had been read over himself and Freda, but it had 
simply made of him an outcast if it be discovered, 
and a malefactor! It was pseudo-matrimony, mock 


CHRISTMAS 


247 


rites of Lucifer! And his, the doctor’s, soul was 
damned forever more! 

His medical knowledge and experience told him 
that the suffering was being prolonged unduly. Im¬ 
pulsively if unwillingly he raised up a little prayer. 
He wanted nothing to happen to her—to Freda, his 
very own. 

Mrs. Warner appeared at the inner door, and 
smiling in her counterfeit geniality beckoned him, 
her lips framing the words, “A boy!” But the doc¬ 
tor’s eyes blazed at her so fierily that a little quiver 
spread through her and she made way for him as 
he approached. In this momentary veering of tem¬ 
per his soul focused into the vow that he would not 
recognize the child. To Mrs. Warner he was 
plainly a madman. 

He stepped into the chamber which had been an 
earthly paradise to him. Freda glanced up at him 
shyly, a joyous smile seeking to break through the 
cloudy paleness of her face, the beauty of her coun¬ 
tenance etherealized by her motherhood; but when 
she saw the livid fiendishness depicted in her par¬ 
amour’s visage, she shrank away from him and bur¬ 
ied her face in the pillow. Doctor Rumford espied 
the telltale bundle on the bed and Mrs. Warner, ey¬ 
ing him malignantly, pulled aside the blanket for 
his contemplation of the squirming, half-awakened 
gift of God. The physician involuntarily accorded 
it such a look of hatred, of aversion, that Mrs. War¬ 
ner became incensed and immediately jerked the con- 


248 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


cealing coverlet over the tiny body. Unable to 
restrain his anger, the doctor strode deliberately 
from the room. 

Freda rose, stretched a weakly hand after him, 
a deprecating cry upon her lips, but Mrs. Warner 
hushed her by exclaiming: 

“Oh, child dear, don’t mind that poor black¬ 
guard! He’s simply one of those goody goodies 
that kick up a rumpus when things come to the 
worst! Give me a bold man of the world every 
time, one who knows what he’s doing and holds no 
ill nor fear. No, there, there! I shan’t say any 
more, dear. Your face is very white and you will 
get a bad fever if you are not perfectly calm. You 
must try to go to sleep. I will fix some of that 
opiate for you.” 

But Freda refused the opiate. She lay stricken. 
This, then, was the guerdon of her suffering! It 
was unbelievable. Hot tears swept into her eyes 
and anger began to mount within her. “No!” she 
protested decisively again to Mrs. Warner’s im¬ 
portuning that she swallow the opiate. She didn’t 
want any drugs. She would fight it out alone. And 
for hours she lay there pondering, disturbed only 
by the necessities of her motherhood. That ter¬ 
rible pain she had undergone for him—that he 
should be so cruel. He was no better than other 
men. In her hour of greatest need he had failed 
her. She felt her whole system of ethics tottering. 
Fever began mounting within her. That the doctor 
had been vicious in this crucial moment was an un- 


CHRISTMAS 


249 


fortunate circumstance that was perhaps to reap a 
harvest of still greater sorrow. 

Doctor Rumford in his flight from that house was 
an alcoholized demon infuriated. He had drunk 
deep from his chalice of sin. He was aware that 
his crimes were now threefold, knew himself to be 
a scoundrel to the very dregs. 

He entered his home unushered and discovered 
Luella in the parlor with that sacred burden in her 
arms. Her awful aspect in outstretching her hand 
to him told him at once what had occurred. 

“Oh, Sidney!” she moaned. “Our baby—is 
dead!” She tottered toward him and would have 
fallen prone in a deep swoon had he not caught her. 
Clamorously summoning the maid, the physician 
had the girl place the dead child upon the couch, 
then between them they supported the heartbroken 
Luella aloft to her bed. Leaving the maid with 
her, the doctor dashed below stairs again. 

He was unwilling to believe the worst until he 
had proven it to be true; so, tenderly lifting the baby 
form which had kept quite warm at its mother’s 
breast, he stripped it, set it upon his operating table 
and applied in feverish haste every restorative in 
his ken. He worked in fierce hopefulness, refusing 
to believe in his powerlessness, in the irrevocable¬ 
ness of this death, until his last effort had failed to 
bestir a spark of life in the little form. The ap¬ 
palling truth gripped his mind indisputably. 

Wild-eyed and haggard he staggered into the 


250 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


parlor, his soul torn with fury against all things 
existent—against even the Power that had created 
him! Beyond him and visible within that adjoining 
room was the little body lying upon the white slab, 
framed by the doorway. The doctor swayed for¬ 
ward in such fury that he could rend the universe 
asunder. Aye, he had drunk of the Circean cup to 
his fill! He realized that were his soul disturbed 
by hashish he could not have conjured up more dia¬ 
bolical scenes of misery than these which he was 
enduring this Christmas Day. 

A vital thought ripped through the doctor’s mind. 
He had tendered his energies to God—and his re¬ 
ward had been immersement in a Tartarus of suffer¬ 
ing and what he deemed unmerited punishment. 
It was not enough that his simple indulgences had 
been to attain a higher purpose, to gain the strength 
his years of patient studying and laboring had be¬ 
reft him of. No; he was given one punishment 
after another and verily was his soul shattered by 
this latest one. This God above him had no such 
attributes as they had taught in the doctor’s Sunday 
school class. There was no mercy. 

The golden rays of the Christmas sunset were 
shimmering in uncanny fashion upon the still form 
of the child. Striding into the room, the father 
carefully enwrapped the little body again in its 
blanket shroud, leaving exposed only the face, which 
was sweet to him in its angelic repose. Feasting his 
inebrious sight upon it, he held it enfolded in his 
arms whilst he paced slowly up and down. This 


CHRISTMAS 


251 


baby was to him the true love god, the tangible 
cause of love and undeniably the ultimate and 
crowning purpose of it. Dead, this mite was more 
precious to him than a thousand of such as reflected 
upon his honor. It was the first little lamb taken 
from his fold and though he had viewed the death 
of strangers so many times, he was distressed by the 
knowledge that he would never see this child again. 
He studied its features and tried to fancy the kind 
of woman into which it would have matured. Its 
hair was light and he conjured up the golden haired 
little girl that would always be missing from the 
merry flock that played in yonder rooms. The 
sunlight of this holy day, the birthday of the Re¬ 
deemer, softened into ashen hues harbingering the 
darkness. 


CHAPTER XII 


BURSTING OF THE BUBBLE 

p 1”^ HE once staid Doctor Sidney Rumford kept 
to his avowals. No more did he raise his 
A soul in prayer to God. Daily he kept him¬ 
self jingled with whiskey. Nightly he went to bed 
in a state of at least semi-intoxication though more 
often he slept in a stupor upon his couch below 
stairs. And this conduct was true also of his fre¬ 
quent visits to Freda, with whom he easily patched 
up his quasi-quarrel. It amused him to see Freda 
attend that little squaller—that brat! He was 
often splenetically at the point of denouncing this 
disturbing caterwauling but he discreetly held his 
tongue. 

He noticed that this child differed from his others 
in that its wispy hair was more golden; it had fea¬ 
tures of more delicate conformation and an airy 
etherealness; in other words, it strongly resembled 
Freda. He could not deny that it gave him a rare 
pleasure to play with this blue-eyed infant, letting 
it twine its pink fingers about his own as with its 
merrily twinkling eyes it stared up at him. It gave 
him peculiar feelings so that a smile was wont to 
wreathe his lips, a silvery sparkle to brighten his 

lascivious eyes as he looked upon this beauteous un- 

252 



BURSTING OF THE BUBBLE 


253 


sanctioned offspring, this little lamb outside the 
fold of God. 

The passing days softened Luella’s grief. With 
so many young the departed one could not long be 
consciously missed. 

Luella saw that the black-winged thing Ruin was 
fastening its claws upon her home; but she stolidly 
refused to murmur complaint. In her easy-going 
nature she subconsciously decided that if her hus¬ 
band wished to permit his domicile to sink into a 
mire she could bear it if he could. His descent into 
drunkenness after all his fine phrasing about the 
great work he was going to do was a keen shock to 
her. She, however, shrugged her shoulders in her 
natural stoicism. The doctor himself saw that his 
business was diminishing to the danger point, never¬ 
theless he clung to his toping and sensualism, as¬ 
suring himself that he did not care a whit about any¬ 
thing mundane or supramundane. God had seen fit 
to cast him off, to include him among those meted 
the Adamic punishment, and henceforth he must 
needs be a minion of the Devil. 

Apropos of this descending black ruin there oc¬ 
curred one cold morning in the following March a 
meeting that had vital consequences. Judge Har¬ 
mon in these early hours met Professor Turner in 
a hotel lobby that was their customary place of 
rendezvous. 

“Ah, Turner, what news?” the pompous jurist 
greeted his crony. 

The music master lowered his voice to a tone of 


254 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

intimacy as he spoke, “Our mutual friend has 
traced the girl. She’s living in an apartment that 
looks like a harem; she has a heathen god and all! 
I guess she’s pretty wicked,” he laughed, “an adven¬ 
turess of the lower octaves. And that’s where 
our erstwhile medical friend departs to almost 
daily.” 

The judge throated a repelled “Ugh!” then 
grated harshly, “I suspected as much! They say 
he’s been staying away for two or three days at a 
time.” 

The professor added in serious manner, “There’s 
more—an infant!” 

“What!” exploded the startled judge, fairly leap¬ 
ing out of his skin in his rage, his face purpling. 
“Is it possible, Turner?” As the musician re¬ 
peated his affirmative nod the justice roared, “That 
damnable maniac of rascality—I’ll get him now!” 
The judicial jowls and throat quivered with apo¬ 
plectic wrath as their owner stiffened into his most 
virile pomposity. 

“What will you do?” twitted Turner in banter. 
“Going to ride him on a rail out of that town, too?” 
The speaker was not so vindictive as his friend. He 
did not drink and therefore harbored no hatred for 
his fellow man. The details of his profession were 
more than sufficient for his full attention and he 
forgave or ignored his brother creature’s idiosyn- 
cracies. He had a sentimental esteem for the 
weaker sex perhaps because of the romantic setting 
in which his profession placed his feminine pupils 


BURSTING OF THE BUBBLE 


255 


and in this affair he was actuated solely by his desire 
to see Mrs. Rumford get a square deal. He was 
aware of more than he had told the judge. But he 
felt that imprisonment of the husband for bigamy 
would gain the wife nothing; in his broad view of 
the matter he decided that where both parties were 
cognizant of the previous marriage and no fraud 
perpetrated upon either there was no real harm done 
in their procuring the enactment of the false cere¬ 
mony. He knew that his judgeship would counte¬ 
nance no such view, also that his friend’s irascibility 
was hypocritical and born of alcoholic weakness. A 
refined elderly gentleman stepped near to them at¬ 
tracted by the judicial vehemence, his head cocked 
like a chicken’s to hear what he could. Harmon 
remained pensive a moment, involuntarily smiling 
at his comrade’s crack in referring to that abortive 
threat of tar and feathers and rail riding made just 
a year ago to Doctor Rumford. The jurist’s face 
hardened bitterly, however, as he spoke: 

“Hear me, Turner, I’m going to write the police 
chief to-night to put a crimp in that! No—I’ll wire 
him! It’s quicker.” The speaker waxed choleric. 
“That unholy scamp! I’ll rid our town of him 
this time, you can bet!” But Turner was already 
half way down the short lobby. 

“Turner, you’re in the wrong business; you’re a 
mind reader—you ought to be telling fortunes—in 
starred gown and fool’s cap !” 

“See you later, Harmon,” voiced his chum, wav¬ 
ing adieu. 


256 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

“What’s the matter?” piped up the old gentleman 
at the restive jurist’s elbow. 

The judge whirled around on him in such fury 
as to frighten the poor fellow quite out of his wits. 

“Why, it’s about that black-hearted physician of 
ours! You know him, Bowerman!” 

The old gentleman thought he said “black¬ 
headed,” and he was aggrieved at this disrespectful 
way of mentioning so fine a man. “Do you mean 
our new practitioner, Doctor Rumford?” he asked 
testily. “Why, he’s my doctor, sir! I can’t 
allow. ...” 

“So!” exploded the judge, avaricious of this news. 
“Well, you’ll listen to me, then!” Whereupon he 
took the old gentleman aside, buttonholed him and 
poured out such a stream of vindictive revelation 
that he won an easy convert. This little bit of 
good work accomplished, he strutted pompously 
and with definite purpose over to the desk of the 
bluecoated telegraph operator. 

On this same crispy March morning Freda was 
in her bedchamber dilly-dallying against arising even 
at this late hour. She was alone and was playfully 
teasing her baby, merrily twitching its toes and elud¬ 
ing its tiny grasp, tickling it and smiling to it, her 
heart aflutter with happiness. They were having 
a rare time together. Nothing is so ennobling as 
motherhood. Freda was a true modern Eve in this 
Eden of her own fabrication, the diffusing steam- 
heat and the sunshine permeating the webby lace 


BURSTING OF THE BUBBLE 


257 


curtains and glistening upon the ivory furniture giv¬ 
ing her the warmth of the beautiful Edenic solitude. 
Here she was able to live in primordial seclusion 
with her Adam. Yet the masculine hand that had 
uplifted her into these empyrean heights seemed 
likely to cast her down again by his disrespect. 

In the fervor of her motherhood she was oblivi¬ 
ous to quite everything except this warmly pulsing 
mite of flesh for which she felt such utterly doting 
love. Her face radiant with smiles, she snuggled 
the child playfully to her; in amusing it she gained 
for herself a much greater degree of happiness. 
The squirming of its little hands upon her felt like 
an angel’s touch, and as its little eyes looked up at 
her she teasingly shot wriggly kisses to its tiny 
mouth. “My little mopsy! Does oo love oo 
mother? And is oo father becoming a very 
naughty man, unworthy of thee? I read to him 
from his Bible but he won’t listen to me. And 
did he look bad things at my little darling—which 
mother can never forget or forgive!” 

In her twinge of worry consequent to this reflec¬ 
tion Freda drew the child tightly to her and leaned 
her face upon its softness as she murmured, “Oh, 
my love bud, what a torment life would be to me 
now without you. You are doubly my son—my 
glorious Sun! I am most all the universe—and Mr. 
Moon is my mock hubby and I love him dearly—but 
he spends half his time with that other, Mama 
Earth, to whom he is more truly related but for 
whom methinks he has paled horribly. To us he 


258 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

presents a dull dark gleam, too. But my little boy 
is my Sun. With only papa’s light mama would be 
in dismal darkness indeed.” 

But the small bright eyes simply gleamed up at 
her, apparently as vitally interested in the golden 
strands above her brow as in aught else. There oc¬ 
curred a ringing of the doorbell, and in scarcely 
more than the time of a star’s twinkle Freda had 
placed the happy child beneath the bed covers, then 
had slipped into a long, deep-red Russian frock and 
into equally red high boots, her latest whim, and 
there—she was as modestly clothed as you please! 
She wound her golden strands in a hasty coiffure 
about her finely molded head, her latest twist with 
which to please and fascinate the doctor. 

In a trice she was trembling before that mahogany 
public hall door she had opened. For enframed in 
this dusky entrance stood her mock lord and master, 
heaving fiercely as if he might be truly some czar 
intent upon imbruing his hands in blood. He stood 
there glaring piercingly at her. 

“Won’t you come in, Sidney?” she pleaded softly. 
She realized that his anger had been heightened by 
her purposely having left the key in the lock so 
that he could not open the door. But she deemed 
drink capable of enacting anything, and there had 
been altogether too many deep threats from his 
lips of late, threats scarcely spoken but vividly intelli¬ 
gible. Overwhelmed by his misfortunes, it was but 
natural for him to seek to destroy the causes thereof. 
A dipsomaniac, his soul was rotting. There was no 



BURSTING OF THE BUBBLE 


2 59 


telling what instant demon impulses would actuate 
him. He had exhibited too ready a willingness to 
do anything she had asked, no matter how nefarious 
or criminal, to expect restraint from him now. 

“Oh, I always forget to remove that key,” she 
deprecated in feigned regret. 

Titubating into the room he said sourly, “I wish 
you wouldn’t do that—lock that door that way!” 
Without any kiss or other salutation he set aside his 
hat then cast himself sullenly into the divan and 
fastened his riled sight upon the fireless hearth logs. 
“You ought to light those things,” he reproved ac¬ 
ridly. His morning libations had been so numerous, 
however, that a different kind of feeling began to 
pervade him. 

Freda ignited the hearth tinder. Then she crept 
softly to him, got down upon her knees on the red¬ 
dish wolf skin before him. Resting her hands upon 
his lap and looking up into his eyes, she said softly, 
“And there are some things—I wish—you wouldn’t 
do. You brought that Bible here to reform me, 
and I’m not the one who needs reforming.” 

“You’re the most beautiful woman in all the 
earth—or in the cosmos!” he replied in thick-voiced 
cajolery, purposely misconstruing her words. But 
his inherent temper was visibly arousing again. He 
did not like correction, felt himself to be too supe¬ 
rior for any one to make so free with him, not ex¬ 
cepting even her. To Freda’s eyes his mind was 
an open book. 

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Sidney,” she 


260 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


declared. “But I think it is time we came to an un¬ 
derstanding. I have given you my love, I have given 
you that baby, and I am living for you as pure and 
faithful a life as any married woman lives—and for 
less reward, as I am giving all and receiving only 
part in return, sharing you with another who enjoys 
a happiness I don’t because I know of her existence 
but she not of mine.” 

“I give you more than I do her,” he responded 
brusquely. “That ought to satisfy you.” His 
words had a more shocking import than she knew, 
for that very morning he had deprived Luella of 
most of her day’s household money to enlarge the 
sum he had brought his paramour. His attention to 
business was almost nil and his resources were ebbing 
to a point where he would have to begin disposing of 
his office treasures. With his inebrious eyes he 
looked down upon his comrade’s startling loveliness, 
upon that expensive Russian cloak, upon her cephalic 
soft gold and flesh tints, and upon her superb delin¬ 
eations and contours formed by her semi-heavy gar¬ 
ment in her posture, and his salacious emotions 
aroused by alcohol waxed hungrier. But her hands 
pressed upon his more firmly and her voice betrayed 
greater insistence as she enunciated slowly and 
decisively: 

“Sidney, I want you to stop drinking.” 

His anger returned instantly. “Is it possible!” 
he sneered. “I suppose my little Russian doll didn’t 
tell me once that she liked a man who wasn’t afraid 
of his glass—who could take a dram now and then! 


BURSTING OF THE BUBBLE 


261 


Your manly man!” He emitted a short laugh. 
Thrusting her impulsively aside, he leaped up to 
give fuller vent to his temper and repulsion. “You 
dare to chide me! Why, I’ll smash everything in 
this flat and throw you into the street!” 

Freda, staggering under his thrust and thrown 
into panic, hastily retrieved her balance and sought 
to pacify him by flinging her arms about his neck 
and crying, “Oh, Sidney! Please, Sidney!” 

He simply thrust down her arms, glared at her in 
demonish hatred and ripped forth, “I suppose you 
didn’t come to me in all that hell-begotten beauty of 
you, a she-fiend to bait my soul to the Devil! You 
and that Harmon made me what I am. And if I 
have blood spilt on my hands—if I’ve spent hours 
praying for the death of my good God-given 
wife. . . .” He paused the briefest of instants 
through noting Freda shrink from him in astonish¬ 
ment at these heinous revelations. “Oh, you fiend 
woman, you needn’t stare at me with any glints of 
repulsion. If I have dipped my instruments in the 
life blood of a poor fellow creature upon my operat¬ 
ing table, yet so help me heaven! I’m not as bad as 
you! When you came to me you were a vampire 
bent upon sucking my blood, my honor from me! 
And well you’ve succeeded!” Raising his arms 
dramatically aloft, he wailed drunkenly, “Oh, God! 
I’m a broken, dissolute man!” 

His revelations had turned the tide against him. 
Freda stood aghast, no longer seeking to pacify 
him. Her initial horror at the thought of his fiend- 



262 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


ishness in having prayed for his wife’s death and 
in having killed a fellow man was converted into 
insensate fury when he uttered this vilification of 
her who had ostracized herself from the world 
to be worthy of him—of him that was the basest 
of the base! Tightening in every fibre she was 
about to give him a tirade of disillusionment— 
when there came a pounding at the hall door. 
Pound! Pound! Whoever was knocking was not 
showing even the courtesy of ringing. 

The quarrelers stood gazing in tense consterna¬ 
tion at each other. Then Freda with a shrug of 
her pretty shoulders stepped to the door and yanked 
it open. A man of square jaw and determined ap¬ 
pearance stood upon the threshold. 

“Pm from the Chief,” he introduced himself, ey¬ 
ing them sharply. “I presume you’re the Doctor 
Rumford mentioned in this wire,” he declared with 
a cold smile, the yellow telegram dangling in his 
hand. “I heard you quarreling. My advice to 
you, my fine man, is that you quit this town without 
a moment’s wait. Now, are you going to leave— 
or to wait until something happens to you?” The 
thin lips closed hard. 

His eyes flashing angrily, the doctor straightened 
himself up to his full height. He was about to 
feign astonishment, as at an unwarrantable intru¬ 
sion, and to denounce the man, but the steel in the 
fellow’s manner and the incontrovertibility of that 
yellow slip altered his intention. He replied 
weakly, “I will go at once.” 


BURSTING OF THE BUBBLE 263 

“All right, sir,” the officer acquiesced, adding, 
“An’ you, young lady, had best take the advice of a 
man who knows the punishment thereof, both the 
physical and the penal, an' quit this game. Well, 
I won’t bother you any more. I’ve had my say and 
it isn’t in my province to intrude further on you. 
But what I’ve said, I mean.” He turned about and 
drew the door shut after him. It remained a ques¬ 
tion to them whether he stayed in the hall or went 
on his way—confident. He had neglected to state 
that he had another wire in his pocket from some¬ 
body by the name of Turner which stated that the 
doctor was too fine a man for the calaboose and had 
a good wife and children at home in need of him. 

During this interview chills had been biting into 
Freda’s marrow. But now that the intruder had 
departed and the imminent danger was over, she 
flared up and snapped: 

“You bungler! You’ve betrayed yourself with 
that maundering mouth of yours !” Unconscious of 
the injustice of her accusation she suddenly flung 
her arms aloft and cried, “Ah, God! is there one 
real man in all this world!” 

The doctor leered at her in an ugly fashion, siz¬ 
ing her up from feet to head. He muttered in sar¬ 
casm, “It’s too bad you haven’t also red hair, then 
you would be perfect as the ideal personification of 
the Scarlet Woman!” Nevertheless he was fasci¬ 
nated by her sensuous beauty as she stood adorned 
in that red Russian cloak. More than ever was she 
his golden pheasant—but fighting like a game-cock! 


264 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

He was concerned only with external aspects, the 
romantic illlusion. His inmost desire was to seize 
her to him and stifle that wrath of hers with his 
maudlin kisses. But his alcoholic anger retained its 
mastery of him. 

“And you symbolize the beast of whiskey!” re¬ 
torted Freda, her lips curling scornfully, pityingly. 

He glared at her in flaming malignancy. “You 
Jezebel!” he breathed tensely at her through his 
teeth. His imputation struck her like a whip lash, 
and she paused with a hand resting on the divan 
back to steady herself. She paled, but instantly 
her fury unloosed. 

“Oh, go —as he told you to!” she cried. “You 
have no feeling—no manhood in you! I want 
never to see you again! You are not the man I 
thought you. You can have your furniture—or I 
will throw it into storage. Go, Sidney, go! I 
loathe you—you are not equal to the dirt I tread 
upon!” 

“You can take your unholy brat and the both of 
you go to blazes!” he asseverated, scowling vicious- 

i y - 

“Go!” she screamed. “Go! go!” His epithets 
were sword-thrusts in her heart. She stared at 
him with unbelieving eyes. 

The physician frowned at her, his mind beset by 
malice. She was not aware of the irreconcilable 
vindictiveness of the man; once learning to hate, he 
sustained that hatred always. He reinvested him¬ 
self in all his grandeur, seized his hat and cane and 



BURSTING OF THE BUBBLE 


265 


walked to the door. But there he hesitated, turned 
and contemplated her an instant—his dream woman, 
his ensnared bird of paradise, his human god¬ 
dess most beautiful in her glorious red and gold; 
but now infuriate, implacable. Whatever his sub¬ 
conscious thoughts in this farewell, his mien was 
controlled by John Barleycorn. He chuckled in 
despite, shrugged his shoulders disdainfully and 
pulling the door open as he again turned about he 
stepped gracefully forth—out of her life. The in¬ 
evitable had happened. 

When he was gone Freda stood with her back 
leaning against the divan, and slowly her turbulent 
breathing became more nearly normal. Smote her 
now the potency of the lawful marriage ceremony. 
He was gone, had serenely walked away from her 
and she had no proper hold with which to stay him. 
She possessed her power over him through her 
knowledge of his bigamy and manslaughter but un¬ 
like a truly evil woman she could never injure the 
man she loved by using against him her knowledge 
of his evil. 

In this subsequent stillness Freda realized that in 
an instant her life had become an utter blank, an 
empty void. She felt sorry she had wounded him. 
Her heart told her that it was a woman’s best policy 
to forgive a man his vituperation, for his was the 
nerve racking task of earning the livelihood, of 
bringing to her all the joys divine. Her anger at 
his having reviled her and their offspring changed 
into sadness in her fear that she might not see him 


266 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


again. She felt an hysteria of tears surging up 
within her in her comprehension that her dream was 
shattered forever. Her mother was quite right. 
Love was a delusion, romance a phantom that ex¬ 
isted only in one’s soul. 

Scalding tears flowed into her eyes. Her glance 
strayed to her portrait of “Lucretia,” standing dag¬ 
ger to breast about to gain freedom from her pol¬ 
luted body. The suggestion gripped Freda—it was 
a way out of her troubles, absolute and irrevocable! 
A little poison! Then flashed into her mind a pic¬ 
ture of her baby, sunny with smiles. No, no! She 
must live if just for him! Of late she had been read¬ 
ing assiduously from the doctor’s Bible and into her 
mind crept the conclusion that she had best pursue 
that life of chastity and helpfulness which ever en¬ 
nobled one. The thought of her baby’s possible 
needs bestirred her and she stirred her impotent 
body from its posture against the couch. She 
felt utterly strengthless. She stood for a moment 
unconsciously wringing her hands as she stared in 
sorrow about this now blank and gloomy chamber 
which she would be compelled to dismantle. In 
the succeeding instant she stepped into that adja¬ 
cent room wherein she discovered her good tem¬ 
pered infant happy. Looking down into the play¬ 
ful eyes, she murmured: 

“My poor little baby! There’s nothing much 
before us now, pet!” 


CHAPTER XIII 


AT THE VERGE OF ETERNITY 

I N the morning of the subsequent day Doctor 
Sidney Rumford was standing in the shadows 
of his small examination chamber staring 
through the webby curtains of a window affording 
a view of his backyard and also of part of the 
yard of his neighbors, the Rubands. He was 
reviewing in his mind the events since he 
had closed that door and left Freda be¬ 
hind him. There had been no one waiting for him 
in that hallway, no sturdy arm of the law to take a 
talon clutch of his shoulder. Nor when he had 
reached his proper home had there been any evi¬ 
dence showing that the green vapors of his scandal 
had preceded him and riled Luella. Perhaps the 
matter was to be allowed to remain hushed up if 
his conduct merited it. But no way out of his dilem¬ 
ma had been revealed to him. 

He believed he now wanted most of all things in 
this world—Freda. For his past day’s conduct he 
felt profoundly sorry. In fact he had returned to 
that forbidden apartment at a later hour in a wholly 
remorseful mood but had been unable to gain entry, 

finding the door again locked with the key on the in- 

267 


268 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


side. To the other door, the one leading into the 
little inner hall, he had no key. He guessed rightly 
that she had made exit from this latter door, also 
that she had purposely thwarted his entry in that 
manner through fear he might return and put into 
effect his threat to wreck the place. And when he 
had stood drunken and thwarted thus he would have 
exceedingly relished the task of consummating that 
havoc. 

After his vain attempt to gain entry he had jour¬ 
neyed in his car to Mrs. Warner’s house, and with 
yearning emotions had rung long and vainly. He 
was aware, however, that Freda was there, through 
seeing her shadow approach an upper window a 
second then as suddenly go back into the depths of 
the room again. In his inebriation he had there¬ 
upon called up to her beseechingly but had elicited 
no response. She had walked to that window in 
the belief that the car she heard was his, but through 
fear of violence she had withdrawn in the room 
again. When she heard him call up to her, the un¬ 
deniable love in his voice brought the old thrill into 
her saddened heart, but she caught the vibrant note 
of his intoxication and she concluded she would give 
him a cooling off, give him time to sober up and to 
understand that he must stay sober. Moreover a 
dreariness beset her in her knowledge that things 
were different now. 

In this moment of reflection the physician was 
aware of his dulcinea’s supersensitive nature, and he 
guessed correctly that she had made arrangements 


AT THE VERGE OF ETERNITY 


269 


to put the furnishings into storage, and had made 
up her mind that she was through with him. Per¬ 
haps what rankled him most was his consciousness 
that he merited her renunciation. 

His introspection on life was one of hopeless de¬ 
pression. In consequence he had made a resolve 
which he was about to put into effect. Upon a table 
near him was much of his chemistry apparatus, re¬ 
torts, jars, mortars and complicated glass-tubed and 
glass-globed appliances, all of which he had not 
touched for many days, nor would he ever disturb 
them again except it be with his downcrashing hand 
in that fatal fall he would take in a few minutes. 
His ambitions he knew were wholly beyond his win¬ 
ning. World fame and honor amongst his col¬ 
leagues were imposssible. On yonder table was a tray 
heaped with letters from his contemporary savants, 
some asking the reason of his long silence. Other 
missives from his college chums were tactfully sym¬ 
pathetic in gently acquainting him with the whispers 
spreading abroad and exhorting him to prove this 
calumny false by casting the evil from him. Aye, 
like his dream of being lionized in society, his pur¬ 
pose to do world work, God’s work, was a bubble 
burst. He no longer had the strength for such ef¬ 
forts. Did he possess Freda things might swerve 
into the course of good again. That the world 
would not give her to him he w T ell knew. 

There was absolutely nothing in life for him he 
vowed, and he would cast himself from it, for ever¬ 
more beyond the ken of these minds that were in- 


270 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


tent upon dragging him in the dust. He had no 
thought for his wife and children; the egotism of 
the drunkard permits of no such intrusions into his 
self-centred cogitations. In his hand Doctor Rum- 
ford held a glass of colorless liquid having the 
potency of producing instant death. He was wait¬ 
ing for that psychological moment when would gen¬ 
erate in him the convulsive impulse that would carry 
the glass to his lips. In a second its lethal contents 
would be gorged, would ensue a frightful spasm then 
the great smash to the floor. Having taken several 
bolstering drinks of his faithful brown liquor, he 
was sufficiently jingled to believe he would appreci¬ 
ate and relish the aspect of this ruinous tumble. 
He knew that without an exhaustive analysis of his 
viscera it would be difficult to find trace of this 
quasi-water. Heart failure would be an easier rea¬ 
son to give for death; they must needs become len¬ 
ient and spare him the shame of this last misdeed. 
They might say he had died from a ruptured blood 
vessel of the brain—from too strenuous mental labor 
in accomplishing his world work. Bitter was his 
laugh. 

Standing in this overwhelming dejection before 
his window, he saw an incident in the neighboring 
yard that for a moment rather engrossed his at¬ 
tention. He had little fear of death, just enough 
to stay his hand a while. He had seen too many 
sunken into death spasms, had felt none of their 
pain himself and consequently did not believe in all 
the hullabaloo they made about cashing in. He con- 


AT THE VERGE OF ETERNITY 


271 


sidered his position sustained by the fact that they 
all managed to divest themselves of their mortal 
coil no matter how hard the struggle. Everybody 
died—and suffered eternal utter extinction perhaps. 
But this nondescript man in the Ruband’s yard, who 
was seeking to fasten a bridle upon an untrained 
and fractious colt, the physician had of a time seen 
cringe in abject fear of the inevitable dissolution. 
In a moment of inebriation, the doctor remembered, 
he had pointed a gun at the fellow, playfully yet 
in drink’s dangerous mood, of which the butt of 
the joke was only too fully aware and it had brought 
from his lips the plea, “Aw, Doc, quit, quit! It 
might go off!” and the fellow had trembled like an 
aspen leaf. The physician smiled at the remem¬ 
brance. 

For it was his own servitor and useful helper 
Joh. This vassal was paid only cigarette money, 
yet was a man for a’ that. These wages were paid 
to him in nickels and dimes throughout the day, for 
Joh smoked many packages of coffin nails. In ad¬ 
dition he received, of course, his food and plenty of 
cast-off clothing. The doctor could not refrain 
from smiling at the man’s complacency in this 
modern serfdom. Evidently some were slaves by 
nature. 

This unusual liegeman upon whom the physician 
gazed was a lean, rather swarthy and leathery 
skinned individual somewhere in his late twenties. 
He had hollow cheeks, a Roman nose and a small 
droopy black mustache. He wore eyeglasses and 


272 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

had grown stoop-shouldered from trying to look 
over them. Despite the fact that he had a 
mortal antipathy for death, he evidently had no 
fear of life’s roughness. He had acquired his 
first lessons in riding, as the doctor recalled with 
amusement, by means of an old fashioned bicycle 
he had found in the barn, one of those contraptions 
with a high wheel in front and a tiny one behind; 
perched high upon it he had gone careening about 
the yard, repeatedly hurtling over rocks and bushes, 
even crashing down upon and destroying several 
young cherry trees. He frequently received such 
frightful falls as to wring that gaspy “Oh!” from 
the lips of the ever watchful Luella Rumford. In 
truth, the doctor’s wife hugely enjoyed watching 
this “crazy” fellow, for he was her court clown, 
Puck, although she did not like to have him about 
the house. The doctor recollected that on one oc¬ 
casion Joh had experienced upon a public thorough¬ 
fare such a disastrous fall from this high wheel that 
the seams of his trousers had been ripped open, 
giving him the appearance of wearing a fantastic 
slitted skirt, which Joh related had seemed to af¬ 
ford keen amusement to the womenfolk he chanced 
to pass on his way homeward. Nothing fazed Joh. 
Having finally mastered the bicycle he had looked 
about him for some new thing to conquer. 

This wild and unmanageable colt of the Rubands 
had matured. Now Joh excursioned daily over the 
fence to teach the horse to obey the guidance of 
man’s hand. Mr. Ruband welcomed this friendly 


AT THE VERGE OF ETERNITY 


273 


proffer of services, though he had stated he could 
not make out whether it was the colt being taught 
to be ridden or it was Joh being taught to ride. 
The broncho-buster, he saw, had evidently an iron- 
cast constitution, and he reckoned that with such 
persistence both teachings would undoubtedly be 
accomplished. 

This sort of scene, then, was what attracted and 
engrossed Doctor Rumford’s attention as in this 
moment of dreadful intent he stood staring from 
the window. Strange what unsuspecting, unrelated 
things will stay the hand of fatality. Joh had no 
inkling of the fact that upon his comedy depended 
a man’s life, his greatest friend’s. Whilst watch¬ 
ing from another window Luella had no suspicion 
of her husband’s intent. 

Had he possessed the coin Joh probably would 
have encased his limbs in the regulation furry, 
leathery chaps, but he made some extra pairs of 
trousers act as shock absorbers. In this instant, 
after many vain attempts at rope throwing, he had 
cornered the frisky young horse in an angle of the 
barn and fence, though the animal was jerking its 
head away from him in wild-eyed fright. With a 
quick clasp of its mane, however, Joh deftly slipped 
the halter over its nozzle, but to prevent him from 
properly fastening the straps the colt jerked back, 
set its forelimbs parallel and viciously yanked its 
head from side to side in frantic endeavor to es¬ 
cape him. Joh clung; no bulldog was ever more 
tenacious than he. The fright and fury of the young 


274 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


beast increased, however, until its valiant tormen¬ 
tor’s body was crashing against the fence, those 
masculine arms intrepidly girdling its tossing head. 
In frenzy the colt crushed itself against its assailant, 
but Joh had become the little old man of the sea. 
In his prodigious effort to turn the animal’s head 
aside in order to mount the beast he caused it to 
fall and for a moment there ensued such a general 
mixup of hoofs and legs as apparently no human 
bones could weather. Joh went down, the animal 
rolling over and getting into an attitude as if it 
were trying to sit on him. The valiant, would-be 
conqueror squirmed desperately out from under, 
but was boosted and somersaulted across the beast 
in its strenuous effort to get upon its haunches. 

The creature’s movements, however, were checked 
by the closeness of the angle and before it success¬ 
fully arose the relentless Joh grasped at its withers, 
threw his leg over its back and in the instant of its 
up-leap accomplished a daredevil mounting. En¬ 
sued immediately such contorting and buckling-up 
as was likely to shake the rider’s anatomy asunder, 
a snorting and a beating of lightly touching unshod 
hoofs as of a thing possessed—then a sudden utterly 
demoniacal lurch and Joh involuntarily hurtled 
through the air and tumbled with a thud upon the 
hard ground. He lay quiet, the sound of scam¬ 
pering hoofs audible in a faint singing in his ears. 
The animal cantered away, its mane flowing victori¬ 
ously, its wary eyes gleaming whitely. 

Joh lay in semiconsciousness a moment. Having 


AT THE VERGE OF ETERNITY 


275 


started on this broncho-busting, he was going to 
see it through. It was probably this urge for vic¬ 
tory that bestirred him from his prone quietude. 
He stiffly arose, straightening, out his clothes and 
rubbing himself here and there. He stood a mo¬ 
ment looking after the fractious beast. Then he 
walked to the fence, lamely vaulted it and directed 
his course toward the Rumford barn. Little did he 
comprehend the momentous importance of that fra¬ 
cas, that he had unwittingly kept Mrs. Rumford 
from becoming prematurely a widow and that in¬ 
cidentally he had saved his own job. 

The affair had drawn involuntary smiles from 
Doctor Rumford. Perhaps came to him the con¬ 
clusion that there were better ways of dying than 
this cowardly method of poison. Joh bucked 
against nature, tempted it to slaughter him. Al¬ 
though he succeeded in mastering it, it afforded him 
some hilarious excitement. And if perchance it 
should some day slay him, that would be merely a 
combat lost and he could go into the long sleep with 
a smile upon his lips. Filled with an uncontrollable 
mirth the regenerated physician returned the con¬ 
tents of his wineglass to its proper vial. Then he 
proceeded to take up the duties of his office. 

With the passing of the succeeding days the wings 
of dark ruin were to be seen more tightly enwrapping 
him. He was plainly traveling the downward trail. 
During the daytime his senses were in a befuddle- 
ment which attained to complete obfuscation and 
overwhelming torpidity by nightfall. His drams 


276 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

averaged about four to the hour and amounted to 
over a quart of whiskey daily. Without self-re¬ 
spect, without ruth for his wife or his children, he 
maintained interminably this state of semi-intoxica¬ 
tion. He was unable to view himself in his proper 
light or to comprehend the fact that he had been 
born with a burden of inherited negative tendencies, 
the hell-crowning one his inordinate lust for that 
liquid brown ruin. He neglected his patients to the 
extent of having his children go to the door and say 
he was out. Most of his wakeful hours he devoted 
to reading, no longer from his tomes of learning 
but from such works of fiction as those of Alex¬ 
andre Dumas and George Eliot. 

But he could not resist the lure of Freda’s love¬ 
liness. Her witchery kept recurring to his memory 
and thrilled him with exquisite yearning. She was 
a lodestone irresistible and time and again he laid 
aside his reading matter, pensively rubbed his head 
between his hands, then mounted to his room and 
arrayed himself in his finest garments to essay again 
to see her and regain her affections, attempts that 
were made futile by the fact that he had not the 
good sense to desist from loading up with that cour¬ 
age water of iniquity at the last moment. He failed 
to arrive at that gabled house sober, refused to 
grant her that victory over him. He considered 
himself to be the one offended and vowed that she 
must crave his pardon. In pursuing this trend of 
vindictive cogitation he could not understand why 
he went there at all. His subconscious self knew 


AT THE VERGE OF ETERNITY 


277 


well his reasons, but he preferred to feed his ego 
with spite. 

When he alighted from his rented limousine be¬ 
fore the Warner domicile, necessity having forced 
him to dispose of his own small car, he was unaware 
of the fact that Freda was generally standing watch¬ 
ing him from an upper window, her gentle heart 
hungering for him—sober. The moment she es¬ 
pied his inevitable tipsiness her heart grew cold and 
she refused to permit the maid to admit him. She 
was filled with compassion but she simply could no 
longer tolerate his drunkenness. She held too high 
an estimation of herself; at least, she thought she 
did. Perhaps with womanly thoughtlessness she 
was gayly enjoying her power over him. Or possi¬ 
bly she was surfeited with love for a while and con¬ 
tent to live in youthful motherly simplicity with 
her baby. As the days passed and she saw the 
doctor to be still in his cups, her anger waxed 
apace. 

After these unsuccessful attempts to see her, 
Doctor Rumford customarily went home and drank 
an almost lethal quantity of whiskey, then darkened 
his office and refused admission to anybody. He 
steeped himself in sleep upon his couch, hoping there¬ 
by to forget. 

Did he know what effect his conduct was having 
upon Freda his soul might have gone to ashes with¬ 
in him. Mrs. Warner’s cunning eyes only too 
quickly discerned discontent in her daughter. In 
fact the whole upheaval had been a pleasant shock 


278 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


to the mother, for it had returned her Freda to her. 
Daily she drove her diabolical philosophy into the 
young woman. Freda, oppressed by the weight 
of it all, was no longer able to defend herself. 
The mother’s language was picturesque but potent. 

“You see, my dear,” began one of her sly speeches 
at the dining table, “I was quite right; your hand¬ 
some Jack-o’-lantern didn’t keep lighted. Your 
poor will-o’-the-wisp didn’t succeed in guiding you 
far upon your lake of bliss. You didn’t like riding 
in your canoe alone and dissevered from all the rest 
of the world. Oh, I’m not surprised at all that his 
starry beacon proved to be but a ball of ignis fatuus 
hovering over waters of happiness that do not exist. 
Methinks you have found that Edenic pond of 
ecstasy a mire that would strangle you, rather dank 
and lonely to say the least. And your superman 
seems to be rather jaded and down in the mouth.” 
She laughed. “To look at either of you it would 
seem that Cupid treats his devotees badly; or did 
you worship that heathen image as your love god? 

“Now, I trust you’ve had enough of this sort of 
thing,” she presently continued, eying her daughter 
pensively. “From what I hear about your phenom¬ 
enal doctor he is not even caring for his business 
but keeps himself pretty constantly drunken. He 
will soon be in the gutter. He is a most worth¬ 
less sort and considering your education I am 
shocked at your selecting so poorly. That you 
should go mad over such a wretch! Why, they are 
calling him Doctor Dippy!” She paused to butter 


AT THE VERGE OF ETERNITY 


279 


a slice of toast, tears of laughter in her eyes. Freda 
sat motionless, not eating but simply staring blankly 
at the verdure beyond a window. 

“You know that all along I was averse to this 
affair,” declared Mrs. Warner. “I should have 
prevented it! But I guess you led me by your de¬ 
scriptions to believe that a miracle was to happen. 
You must come out of your dream!” The mother 
munched her toast a second then pursued incisively, 
“you know there’s Hildebrande, as handsome and 
fine a fellow as ever walked.” Another pause and 
then, “Doctor Rumford has a mortal enemy who 
is w r orking against him and whose judicial enmity 
will sooner or later bring on a tragedy that you 
wouldn’t relish being mixed up in. The doctor is 
a broken man and you should discard him. He 
never more can give you anything and you are too 
pretty a girl to pine and waste yourself.” The 
parent’s hand reached for and closed over her 
daughter’s as she cajoled, “you are meant for fine 
clothes and a life of ease. Thank heaven you are 
not wedded to him—think what sort of life that 
would be! Mistreating you now, he undoubtedly 
would dare even to beat you then. That’s only too 
frequently the portion of virtuous wives!” She 
laughed again as she nibbled her toast. 

Freda withdrew her hand. It was to this brand 
of argument she was forced to listen whenever her 
parent was with her alone. Under it the daughter 
momentarily flushed or paled from the conflict wag¬ 
ing in her own breast. There was money needed 


280 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


in this house. And despite her mother’s purpose¬ 
ful misconstruction of the matter there remained 
ever that underlying fact of the shatterment of her 
dream. Nor did there seem any likelihood of its 
ever being rehabilitated, not while John Barleycorn 
ruled so absolutely the controlling hand. 

Mrs. Warner continued her arguments without 
cessation, determined to carry her point. She 
cleverly brought about a meeting between Freda 
and Hildebrande. Freda was an admirer of mas¬ 
culine beauty and found in the young man’s care¬ 
free, merry companionship a lightsome pleasure 
that for a time was warmth to her frosted heart. 
She was a moth playing about a flame, but this 
beguiling comradeship afforded her a sort of re¬ 
lief from her heart ache. 

When Doctor Rumford paid his next visit to the 
house, Freda had him admitted to the parlor. It 
was to him an unexpected joy and when she entered 
the room she found him to be so thoroughly in his 
megrims, titubating and leering lasciviously in the 
dimness, that she was compelled to retain her polar 
frigidity. He could not, or would not, comprehend 
that the cause of this estrangement lay with himself 
and not with her. 

“Sidney, I told you I want you to stop drinking!” 
was Freda’s sole remark ere she fled from the room. 
He stood there a moment in his heavy inebriate 
anger then staggered from the house. 

Because of their mutual obduracy the meetings 
they endured were little less than moments of sup- 


AT THE VERGE OF ETERNITY 


281 


pressed fury. But no condition sustains immuta¬ 
bility. The mothering instinct so evidenced in 
womanhood mastered Freda. He was her Sidney 
and she loved him! Into her heart came a great 
pity for him. Consequently the lure of her accom¬ 
plishments and charms at times vanquished his 
spleen and they enjoyed pleasant hours together. 
Her hunger to have him return to his staidly intel¬ 
lectual superior self once more grew apace. But he 
continued to be like some supernally beautiful male 
butterfly mutilating into a slug or verging upon ne¬ 
crosis. When she had the temerity to broach the 
subject of his inebriation he bristled like a dog with 
a bone. 

The doctor apparently misconstrued her attitude 
entirely. In his inherent vindictiveness he was un¬ 
able to forgive her for having insulted him, for 
having likened him to the dirt under her feet and 
for having presumptuously and contemptuously 
ordered him out of that now destroyed love nest. 
He considered her attitude toward his drinking to 
be more of her effrontery. When away from her 
and meditating upon her censure of his conduct, he 
invariably waxed furious but vented his animosity 
upon Luella. With the passing of time he steeped 
himself deeper in his cups. 

He sank gradually lower in his mode of living 
until unthinkable conditions were instituted. Dur¬ 
ing most of his hours, in fact, he lay abed in his 
malodorous sleeping chamber, the air of which was 
obnoxiously scented by the fumes of spilled liquor 


282 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


and of stale tobacco. His reading matter descended 
still another peg to the dime novel variety. He 
banished all ambitions from his mind. The alco¬ 
hol was oxidizing his cranial substances in such 
fashion that even conversation quickly tired him. 
His ibrain that once had been capable of clear, 
crystal thought was becoming absolutely ruined by 
his copious draughts of the Devil’s maleficent 
blood. 

The major part of the money he earned in his 
office during the few hours he condescended to work 
there he invariably brought to Freda, whose un¬ 
conquerable emotions forced her to permit him her 
companionship. He urged the cash upon her under 
the pretense of a wish to see her in some particular 
garment or other bit of raiment. At times he 
brought gifts to her. 

With this state of affairs the time kept passing 
until within the succeeding years Freda’s home was 
brightened by two other children. Their grand¬ 
mother, the youngish Charybdis, Mrs. Warner, 
finding herself unable to interfere with this unsanc¬ 
tified quasi-matrimony opined that it did not matter 
anyway how many of these unhallowed infants were 
born as they could at any time be cast into an asy¬ 
lum, an assertion that was a prophecy! 

The few hours the doctor spent at labor in his 
office proved insufficient to earn enough for his needs 
and to get further money he found it necessary to 
dispose privately of some of his art treasures. He 
gave Luella but a pittance. She and the children 


AT THE VERGE OF ETERNITY 


283 


were beginning to feel the pangs of hunger. This 
caused many quarrels to arise in the household. 
Moreover it had been the physician’s habit to pur¬ 
chase many of his expensive furnishings on credit 
in those earlier days in his haste to surround himself 
with the luxuries of a Croesus and there now being 
no further payments forthcoming the wily sellers 
sought recovery of these articles. The piano was 
the first to go. The reclaiming driver happened to 
call for it when the devotee of Bacchus was absent 
at his paramour’s and the dutiful Luella felt her¬ 
self helpless. Or perhaps she relished this oppor¬ 
tunity to flail and awaken her domineering lord and 
master. When the latter returned home and found 
his residence pianoless he leaped into frothy fury. 
He irately denounced it as audacity on her part and 
hurled at her a thunder of vituperation that would 
have curdled her blood had she been a more sensi¬ 
tive woman. 

“You’re simply erratic—crazy!’’ was her fiery 
retort. She was in truth daily vouchsafing to her 
children, “I think your father is going crazy!” And 
these youngsters were forced to an act that evi¬ 
denced the impoverishment of their father’s soul 
as well as of his exchequer; when he was too top- 
heavy from tippling to leave his bed he compelled 
them to make journeys to his esteemed friend in the 
neighboring saloon to fetch half pint flasks of 
the “bug-juice,” as he in playfulness designated it. 

Day by day he exhibited further evidence of the 
mutation which a drunkard gradually suffers. 


284 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


Comes a time when an alcoholic’s mind is so dis¬ 
torted by his drink that in his exaggerated amour 
propre he feigns to see but evil in others and casts 
vile aspersion upon them, a stage in the physician’s 
progress that was revealed in the late hours of 
a night not long after the birth of Freda’s third 
and last infant. During these nocturnal hours 
Luella’s eldest son Bartholomew lay stricken with 
pneumonia complicated by ear trouble. Paradoxic¬ 
ally the lad was being given quarts and quarts of 
that liquor which was his father’s undoing. It 
proved a help to the ill boy but remembrance of its 
effects were to cling to him in after years and cause 
him to be continually fighting against it. 

Luella had proven herself a watchful guardian 
of her son’s needs. No more endearing wonderful 
mother ever lived. In his moments of lucidity be¬ 
tween his spells of high fever the lad constantly 
watched her. To him she was God’s own good 
angel of mercy. In his grownup years he was to re¬ 
main ever her favorite son. 

In returning soft-footedly to seek the modicum of 
sleep nature compelled, having left the man nurse 
in charge of the sufferer, she noted that the electric 
light was burning as usual above her spouse’s side 
of the dark walnut couch. In that yellow radiance 
the doctor lay with his eyes closed in uneasy sleep, 
his face puffy and pinkly flushed, a gaudily covered 
pamphlet depicting the adventures of Diamond 
Dick held loosely and half crushed in his hand. 

Luella had just closed her eyes when there came 


AT THE VERGE OF ETERNITY 285 

to her ears the words, “But, Freda, I can’t under¬ 
stand—why the children—don’t look alike!” 
Luella rose above her pillow as if she could not be¬ 
lieve her hearing. The doctor’s face was tossing in 
negation and bore an angry scowl. If ever a 
mother felt the world slipping away from her, 
Luella did in this moment of awful revelation. 
Again became audible that unearthly muttering as 
from the lips of the dead in a hoarse repetition of 
“Freda! Freda!” as if in his nightmare he was sens¬ 
ing danger and calling to some one beloved. There 
could be no mistaking the significance of his utter¬ 
ances. 

A scream of anguish arose from Luella’s heart 
but she stifled it though hot tears leaped into her 
eyes. Her heart pulsed rapidly, her breathing be¬ 
coming a laborious gasping. She felt gripped in a 
vise of horror, remembrances returning to her at 
mill race speed. Freda was the name he had fre¬ 
quently miscalled her, a slip of his loose tongue and 
to which she had paid no attention. Who was this 
girl? Came flashing back a picture of that golden¬ 
haired young person standing beside the doctor in 
his office on that long-past day when she had come 
upon them in returning from her ill-fated sojourn 
in the hospital. That must be the girl. Had the 
affair begun then? She sadly wondered had her 
absence nurtured this catastrophe, making it another 
punishment for her sin. This, then, was the 
explanation of these many nights he had stayed from 
home. That girl must be the one who was making 


286 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


him drink. And it must be because he wished to 
bring the hussy into his lawful home that he had so 
often roared at her, his wife, “Get out, or I’ll throw 
you out and shut the door on you!” 

She went again to Bartholomew’s bedside. She 
stayed there despite the fact that she several times 
heard her husband’s raucous voice calling her. Al¬ 
though her heart was too wrapped up in her son’s 
welfare to heed him, she vowed that under no cir¬ 
cumstances would she return to the odious bed. 
She valiantly fought off the fatigue that whitened 
her cheeks, but she dozed a bit now and then in her 
chair. When the morning came the need of getting 
her day apparel obliged her to go into that obnox¬ 
ious chamber. 

“Where’ve you been all this time?” her spouse 
demanded, glaring at her angrily. He had utter 
faith in her but in his now whiskyfied state of being 
he was not averse to casting ignominy upon her, even 
as he had unconsciously cast aspersion upon Freda 
during his nightmare. Tier reticence, the scorn 
upon her bloodless lips, nettled him. “You’ve been 
fooling with that drunken nurse, I guess!” he 
criticized viciously. 

“You dirty scoundrel!” she snarled. “You 
ought to be with your woman now; get up and go to 
her—to your dear Freda that you dream about!” 

Had she fired a gun point blank at him she could 
not have more thoroughly startled him. He stared 
at her speechless, his face blanching, guilt and anger 
commingling in it. He finally managed to utter 


AT THE VERGE OF ETERNITY 287 

with pretended suavity, “I don’t know what you’re 
referring to.” 

“Oh, you know well enough! And I see you are 
an actor as well as a thorough scamp! Only, your 
lips betrayed you in the night. With your blab 
mouth you couldn’t keep it to yourself!” 

“If you don’t have a little more respect for 
me ...” he started to evade again. 

“Respect! you haven’t that for yourself! You 
have not had that for me!” Her voice rose, her 
eyes swimming with tears as she asseverated, “You 
have broken your marriage vows, and I know it, do 
you understand? You are nothing but a Paphian 
and I loathe you! And I wish I were rid of you 
forever!” 

Then this degenerated scoundrel descended a step 
lower in his degradation, permitting a vile epithet 
to escape his lips and fall upon his wife. Worse, he 
followed the term with a stream of vituperation, the 
very slime of his drink-ridden soul, terminating 
with, “And you come here upbraiding me with those 
lying accusations after spending the night with that 
man! Trying to throw your sin upon my shoulders, 
you low woman—you’ve tainted my bed!” His 
eyes were wildly dilated, his countenance flushed, his 
whole expression fiendish. His rage and remorse 
at her discovery of his duplicity impelled him to 
exceed all bounds. 

Poor Luella blenched under this vilification, 
completely taken aback and horrified. There could 
be no arguing with such a man. “Oh, I suppose 



288 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


you could do no wrong,” she commented in sarcasm. 
“And from your words I judge that I can do nothing 
righteous. I am evidently worse than your para¬ 
mour.” 

“Get your things and get out of my room!” he 
bellowed. “I won’t permit you in here any more. 
Go stay with your lover! I’m through with you, 
and the sooner you leave my house and board the 
better.” ! 

“So you can bring in your dear golden-haired 
friend, I presume,” the wife sneered as she gathered 
up her garments. “You won’t have any such oppor¬ 
tunity.” She paused at the door. “I’m going to 
write mama to-day all about you and disgrace you 
thoroughly. Good heaven, to think that I have 
been sleeping all these months with such a beast!” 

“You write anything about me to any one and I’ll 
make you sorry to the soles of your feet!” he ad¬ 
monished, glaring insanely at her. 

Without deigning any reply except an expressive 
“Pugh!” the mother departed from the room. 
She was insufferably fatigued—tired of all the 
world. 

Bartholomew’s fever rose alarmingly. The at¬ 
tending physician was hastily summoned, the 
inebriate father refusing to have anything to do with 
the matter. 

When a mother is defending or safeguarding her 
young it is an inopportune moment for baiting her. 
During one of her mad rushes from the kitchen to 
bring means of relief to her ailing son, her husband 


AT THE VERGE OF ETERNITY 


289 

chanced to meet her at the foot of the stairs, he 
having just arisen. His substance was fairly reek¬ 
ing with the odor of drink, his hair disheveled, a red 
fire in his eyes. 

“Didn’t I tell you to get out of this house?” he 
demanded in drunken contempt, his expression hard¬ 
ening into a frown. 

“Oh, you dirty loafer!” she sneered in retort, en¬ 
deavoring to pass him. 

“How dare you call me that—who have worked 
to skin and bone for you !” 

“Out of my way!” she screamed. “Bartie is 
calling me!” 

The thread of his soul seemed to snap within him 
under this provocation and he smashed out his fist, 
caught the defenseless woman flush upon eye and 
cheek—and felled her to the floor! Came to the 
fallen mother a sweet sensation of enveloping dark¬ 
ness, the black realm of a deep swoon. She lay 
quiet, crumpled against the stair balustrade. 

Kicking her contemptuously from his path, the 
monster pursued his way nonchalantly to the dining 
room, to partake of the breakfast that had awaited 
him since early morning. 

His hand had been heavy but he knew that he had 
not hurt her beyond marking her externally. He 
opined that this bruise would be a badge that would 
teach her to keep her place. Fortunately the chil¬ 
dren were in the yard or elsewhere, so that they had 
not seen the occurrence. 

There presently emanated a moan from the dusky 


290 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

hall. The doctor heard the rustle of Luella’s gar¬ 
ments as she sought to raise herself. Resounded a 
ringing of the public door bell. The doctor arose 
under the stress of the moment and set aside his nap¬ 
kin. As he passed by the struggling woman cling¬ 
ing to the magnificent balustrade, on his way to at¬ 
tend the door in person, he noted that his unhappy 
wife’s face was indeed swollen beneath the eye and 
blackening. He knew ways of checking this dis¬ 
coloration but he laughed brutally. Pausing with 
his hand on the knob of that forward street door, 
suspecting rightly that the caller was his fellow 
practitioner that was attending his son, he waited 
for the battered Luella to stagger to her feet. Her 
blackened and swollen countenance afforded no fit 
sight for the visitor’s contemplation. 

Breathing gaspily, Luella tottered back to the 
dining room, little gulps of grief escaping her lips. 
She concealed herself from the man for whose criti¬ 
cal words she so hungered. Her husband’s heinous 
deed was forgotten in her agony of worry over her 
little son’s plight. Although actuated by her instinc¬ 
tive desire to shield her husband, she frenziedly 
craved to get to her boy’s bedside. Seated in con¬ 
cealment at the dining table, with her eyes swelling 
painfully and her brain numb, she waited through¬ 
out what seemed an eternity. She had about made 
up her mind to go to her boy heedless of everything, 
when she heard footsteps descending the stairs. The 
nurse came softly into the dining room to her. He 
was sent there by her husband, upon whom certain 


AT THE VERGE OF ETERNITY 


291 


news had visited remorse. The nurse’s eyes started 
in noting her injury. He shook his head negatively 
as he murmured slowly and softly, “He says the boy 
can’t live.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


A MIDNIGHT REMOVAL 

L ITTLE Bartholomew’s life was saved, for 
which boon the father had the good sense 
to thank the Great Shepherd. 

Luella now exhibited a strange manifestation of 
human psychology, as if there awakened in her a 
peculiar tolerance approaching amusement. Per¬ 
haps she was influenced by the lack of evil in her 
own nature which prevented her from fully compre¬ 
hending what constituted the enormity of wrong do¬ 
ing. Her husband confided to her that all men did 
these things. Man was brother to chanticleer. 
Monogamy was a mistake imposed upon him in or¬ 
der that there might be enough wives to apportion 
one to each. Man was not to be blamed for the 
appetites which Nature, or God, had given him. 
With these sophisms Luella’s spouse gradually 
brought her around to a way of thinking that was 
better at least for himself under the circumstances. 

Luella’s constitutional indifference toward all 
things except her babies also tended to make her 
accept this new life as it took birth. She held her 
husband in a sort of hero worship; he could do no 
real wrong. Day by day, through living with this 

whiskey-degenerated man and loving him thus 

292 


A MIDNIGHT REMOVAL 


293 


blindly, she became dragged down in the moral scale 
although her wickedness remained always passive 
and never actuated her into committing any sinful 
act. Insidious, however, is the stealth of the Arch¬ 
fiend in gaining recruits. Although this gentle 
woman had been reared in exquisite luxury upon that 
old English estate, this smudging of her soul led her 
to countenance the growing shabbiness of her house, 
also to disregard the effect upon her children of her 
husband’s unfortunate habits. 

In that other half of his double life which he had 
the temerity to arise and indulge in, the doctor’s con¬ 
tinued debauchery and ill temper so irritated Freda 
that she was finally impelled to refuse to grant him 
her companionship at all. Which drove him further 
into the depths. He needed a strong hand to guide 
him, but neither of these women extended that hand. 
Were her babes not so in need of her, it is to be 
feared Freda would have put an end to an existence 
that was intolerable. 

Doctor Rumford’s inattention to business created 
such a burden of debt that he became unable to main¬ 
tain his home. Despite this, in his esthetic desire to 
be surrounded by luxury he had the mansion inter¬ 
nally and externally redecorated and repaid the wily 
decorator through the medium of a mortgage upon 
the property. That the mortgage was subsequently 
foreclosed may have been due largely to Judge Har¬ 
mon as was undoubtedly the matter of the dispos¬ 
sess notice that straightway was served upon the 
physician. It would seem that the doctor had ex- 


294 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

changed his house for the paint upon it—and given 
the paint to boot! The foreclosure sale netted the 
former owner little beyond payment of the painter’s 

bill. 

This catastrophe seemed to jog up the doctor a 
bit, recalling his old determination. He planned a 
new start, to work up from a small beginning in¬ 
stead of attempting a grand splurge unpaid for. 
To this end he secured on the main thoroughfare 
what was strictly an office composed of one large 
room and several small ones. Perhaps he wished to 
hide himself away from Luella’s haunting eyes, her 
justified jealousy causing her to watch him as closely 
as a cat does a mouse. He also chose to move his 
household into a more diminutive home a short dis¬ 
tance from his new office. This small cottage was 
immediately bought by Judge Harmon, who did not 
at once betray his ownership. This step into the 
gutter was consummated by the doctor quietly. 
Many of his art treasures reverted to his unpaid 
creditors, and to secure the badly needed cash others 
went by the devious routes of the antique shops or 
the pawnbrokers. 

At the month’s end he received a new dispossess 
from his home. Justice Harmon’s purpose was 
plainly evident. The surgeon gleaned from the ex¬ 
pelling document the human source of the annoy¬ 
ance and although he was in pecuniary straits he 
managed to scrape together the wherewithal to get 
purposefully most gloriously drunk. In going to 
the friendly barkeeper he took his vassal, the be- 


A MIDNIGHT REMOVAL 


295 


spectacled, stoop-shouldered Joh, along with him, 
the honor of the occasion causing Joh to stand un¬ 
usually straight. At a later hour these odd fellows 
well met came staggering home, shocking the good 
townspeople along their way. Judge Harmon was 
sitting in a wicker chair upon the neighboring porch 
intently watching the course of events. In this 
deepening dusk the removal of Doctor Rumford’s 
household effects began. 

“Joh, get the wheelbarrow!” was the physician’s 
first speech intimating the manner thereof. He and 
his hireling were on the porch at the moment sur¬ 
rounded by some of the wide-eyed children. 

“Pop, Judge Harmon is on next door’s stoop,” 
spoke up Bartholomew. 

“Oh, that viper is, eh! Well, my lad, he owns 
this house and we’ll treat him to a racket he won’t 
forget in a hurry!” 

Joh appeared in a few minutes around the corner 
of the house obligingly toting the wobbly wheelbar¬ 
row. 

“Chuck the stuff in and cart it over to the office,” 
came the raucous command. 

“Good heavens, Doc!” the vassal protested. 
“You’re not going to disgrace yourself moving in 
that thing!” 

“Oh, damn disgrace! Do as I say! I’ll give 
you disgrace !” he shouted, and in proof of his words 
he vociferated a stream of blue profanity that must 
hav^ curdled the jurist’s blood. 

“Quit, Doc,” pleaded his henchman. “I’ll 


296 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

get ’em.” He hastened indoors and in a few 
seconds reappeared with his arms full of chairs. 

“Sing while you work, Joh,” jocularly instructed 
the devotee of Bacchus. 

“Oh, I can’t sing while I work!” the unsteady 
servitor evaded. 

“You sing or by the fires of Hades I’ll shatter 
your soul with imprecations!” The doctor knew 
Joh’s weakness. The latter did not wait for the en¬ 
actment of this threat but at once essayed a merry 
melody, the noises emitted by his whiskey-burnt 
throat harshly discordant. He slipped evasively 
indoors. But the masterful drinker of the Devil’s 
blood, who had a purpose in all this, followed him 
within. He titubated as if he might be on a raft 
tossing on a heavy sea. He was bent on consummat¬ 
ing greater mischief. “Here, I’ll show you how 
to pack quicker,” he said, reaching up for a picture 
and yanking it from its moorings. There was 
method in his madness, for he brought a patch of 
the wall plaster down with the wire and nail. He 
raised his voice in loud whoops and made crash 
enough for Judge Harmon’s audition. There is lit¬ 
tle of which an alcoholized man is afraid. The pot- 
valiant one had a further purpose in coming within, 
to get one of the brown flasks which Joh had fetched 
home and had already placed in the cabinet sanctu¬ 
ary. 

Stepping forth upon the porch again this stagger¬ 
ing disciple of Satan emitted a wild roar of defiance. 
Spreading his limbs steadyingly, he upturned the 


A MIDNIGHT REMOVAL 


297 


flask to his lips and throated nigh half the contents. 
The moment evidently afforded him opportunity to 
give uproarious vent to the anguish pent up within 
his fiery soul because of his estrangement from 
Freda, of his unhappiness in his household and of his 
thwarted ambitions. Joh came forth with some 
hastily folded rugs which he packed upon the wheel¬ 
barrow. The children clung wakefully about, star¬ 
ing with rounded eyes. Mrs. Rumford was at first 
a bit hysterical and remained in her room uncertain 
whether to cry or to laugh, but presently she ex¬ 
tended her aid. Joh hurried at his new task though 
with his squiffy eyes fastened upon the doctor’s 
brown bottle that was fast emptying. 

“Give me a taste, Doc,” he entreated. 

“You go to the infernal regions! You’ve got 
work to do. And sing for me, or by—ah, that’s it! 
tra-la-lee-la-lee-la ! You’re a Caruso, Joh! There’s 
a place I’ll get you in the opera, in the center 
of where they let Mephisto down into his flaming 
realm. Move along, now—it’s getting late !” 

Joh lifted up the barrow handles and maintained a 
fairly straight course as he plodded out the gate and 
squeaked away into the darkness. He shortly reap¬ 
peared with empty barrow. 

“Good, Joh!” his employer greeted him. “We’ll 
soon have the stuff over there!” Evidently the 
speaker’s part in this “We” was to stand by, guzzle 
whiskey and swear volubly. He let Joh do all the 
loading, laughed at the poor fellow tauntingly and 
kept him singing. 


298 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

He baited the judge by crowing boastfully and 
emitting in the jurist’s direction loud cackles of scorn¬ 
ful laughter. He periodically bristled in brutal pug¬ 
nacity and hoarsely roared his blasphemous defiance, 
daring Harmon to essay combat. This not availing, 
he presently staggered indoors and further mutilated 
the walls with those unmistakable rips, bangs and 
crashes. Could his Freda have glimpsed her man in 
his hour of obstreperous belligerency, would she too 
have joined in the household’s general mirth veiling 
the substratum of tension and fear? Women seem 
to enjoy so greatly the capers of their drunken men, 
such rackets undoubtedly lending a kind of zest to 
their prosaic lives. This affair, however, was any¬ 
thing but comical to the jurist. 

Out through the yellow radiance of the open door 
rushed the dipsomaniac once more, tired of his wall 
smashing. First crowing chestily, he throated fur¬ 
ther drams of the brown fluid. Having literally wet 
his whistle and cleared his voice by gratified throat 
raspings accompanied by copious expectorations, he 
chuckled contentedly, then immediately bestirred 
himself and gave vent to a new tirade of abuse, of 
blue cursing punctuated by bloodthirsty warwhoops. 
It was plain that he was enjoying a voluntary mad¬ 
ness. 

When Luella was informed by precocious little 
Elsie that Mister Harmon was sitting next door, 
even the youngsters being timid about their daddy 
being locked up, the mother ran in panic to her in- 


A MIDNIGHT REMOVAL 


299 


ebriated spouse and exclaimed, “Don’t you know 
that Judge Harmon is sitting over there? Do you 
want to be arrested?” 

The intoxicated madman leered at her, his eyes 
smouldering with fire-water and rage, whilst he strug¬ 
gled to collect his wits. “Who’ll arrest me?” he 
demanded in no gentle voice. “Just let him come 
over here to try it! He hasn’t spunk enough. 
Why, r ve more knowledge in my little finger than he 
has in his full carcass—with his rotten law! Pish! 
He arrest me! I’ll break every bone in his foul, al¬ 
coholized body! The. ...” The speaker emit¬ 
ted a stream of virulence anathematizing his nem¬ 
esis. Mrs. Rumford despaired and returned in¬ 
doors to her packing. 

In this wild night the head of the house kept Joh 
busy, finding this superintendence very agreeable. 
No sooner did he espy his vassal reappearing from 
one of his numerous squeaky trips with a refreshed 
throat than he began to heighten his disturbance with 
ulterior motive. The caninely faithful furniture 
mover immediately sought to pacify him, and in con¬ 
sideration for this pacification the drinker set the 
serf to singing again. The doctor evidently found 
some sort of whimsical amusement in listening to 
Joh’s unmelodious twang. When the singer became 
weary, his master took to vociferating anathemas 
upon the head of the jurist until the scared fellow by 
superhuman effort broke anew into discordant song. 
When the hapless servitor’s whiskey-burnt chords 


300 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

would no longer respond, his employer mocked him 
with laughter and commanded, “You must simulate 
the appearance of singing.” 

As stated, nothing fazed Joh. He plodded 
along diligently, dividing his time between his super¬ 
human task of pacifying his uproarious man-god and 
the getting of the things to the new home. Then 
at last, just as the first glimmers of dawn were pal¬ 
ing the sky, the family were all safely transferred to 
and cooped up in the stuffy, small, lamp-lighted and 
altogether mysterious quarters of the office. Herein 
the doctor laid himself down for a rest, the super¬ 
ficial contentment born of his depraved victory vis¬ 
ibly alloyed by an intermixture of leaden sadness. 
He was descending to the bottommost pit of his 
alcoholic hell, so utterly sick of life that death 
would have been but the blowing out of a feebly 
burning candle. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE DOCTOR AWAKENS 

M RS. RUMFORD and her brood were 
fated to dwell but briefly in her odd new 
home. When the doctor ceased drinking 
and sobered up he recovered all his poise and deter¬ 
mination. Perhaps a keen awakening at last to the 
grievous ignominy in which he was steeping himself 
furnished the motive power that bestirred his blood 
and reawakened his manhood. Or perhaps he was 
aroused by his desire to recover the companionship 
and affection of Freda, who had quite cast him oft. 
It was very plain to him now, in his moments of 
sobriety, that the trouble lay not with Freda, since 
severance from her had abated it not a whit. It 
lay undeniably with John Barleycorn. It was still 
possible for him to traverse either this flagrant, atro¬ 
cious path of utter ruin or that other more glor¬ 
ious path leading to the golden summit, the attain¬ 
ment of which had been his passion since adolescence. 

With his manhood resurrected, he determined to 
follow again and solely the more difficult road. It 
meant beginning all over again. But he set about 
the recovery of his lost ground with all the vim and 
energy that had characterized him in past days. He 

had practically no resources except his art treasures. 

301 


302 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


Upon these remnants of his former possessions he 
looked with kindly eyes, aware, however, that he 
must relinquish a few more of them to the pawn¬ 
broker’s care awhile although he was optimistic not 
only of regaining them but of augmenting their num¬ 
ber. To secure himself against possible failure he 
straightway removed his family and home furnish¬ 
ings to a cottage in a neighboring town. His 
father, known as the Old Doctor, the .Vandyke 
bearded Civil War veteran, had retired from busi¬ 
ness and relinquished that initial practice to his two 
youngest sons, Franz and Bud, and was living upon 
an allowance which these accorded him. His rustic 
residence was in this town, to which Sid moved, the 
two houses having scarcely two hundred feet of 
orchard yard between. Doctor Sidney’s confidence 
in himself having been shaken, his idea plainly was 
that in case he had unforeseen difficulty with John 
Barleycorn or if some other evil minion of the devil 
should regain the mastery of him, the old gentleman 
could take care of the unfortunate brood awhile. 

Possibly Doctor Sidney’s rankling knowledge of 
the unmerited prosperity his younger brothers had 
attained in that office which he himself had built 
upon the rock of prosperity, and from which he had 
been unceremoniously ousted, was the impelling 
stimulus that caused him to take up quarters in that 
same Boston thoroughfare where their office was 
located. He rented, in fact, a desirable and showy 
place but a few blocks distant from his recalcitrant 
brothers. By a soft-voiced persuasion that is char- 


THE DOCTOR AWAKENS 


303 


acteristic of the toper he gained possession of his 
new office without any advance payment upon the 
rent. He also beguiled the electric company into 
wiring it, had the sign painter furnish him with high- 
grade signs, the furniture house supply and lay an 
expensive rug in the principal reception room, and by 
special arrangement with the landlord had an awn¬ 
ing maker cover every window of the entire building 
with neat awnings bearing his name in full. The 
accomplishment of all this, including the long-dis¬ 
tance moving, with scarcely the expenditure of a dol¬ 
lar was a precaution that quickly proved to have 
been quite unnecessary. 

He used his paintings and other art treasures to 
best advantage, and lo! there was his palatial office 
almost duplicated. Immediately, as intimated, he 
was attending upon numerous patients, old friends 
who harbored only kindly remembrances of him 
since the days when he had worked for his father,— 
persons who quite idolized him, in fact. He felt 
like Solomon come to life and reset upon his throne, 
like Midas restored to his riches. Yet was it not 
too late; had not his entire substance been too greatly 
deteriorated by those many gallons of alcohol he 
had imbibed? And were there not other factors 
making his golden dream unfeasible. Like a drown¬ 
ing man grasping at a straw he was refusing to give 
up hope. He wasted no thought upon Freda’s pos¬ 
sible doings. He knew the shortness of life, la¬ 
mented the loss of every hour of her companionship, 
and in consequence he bestirred himself into more 


304 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


feverish activity in his craving to regain her love 
and companionship. In personal appearance he pre¬ 
sented the same manly aspect as formerly character¬ 
ized him except he showed signs of having had a lit¬ 
tle more of worldly experience, a change that these 
former patients were not slow to notice. His ma- 
turer form was just sufficiently heavy to give him 
grace. His mustache and dark wavy hair revealed 
but a few gray strands as yet, but his eyes were some¬ 
what shadowy in consequence of his recent heavy 
toping and his depressing sorrows and desolation. 
In his dark office garments, however, he was visibly 
a superior personage. 

Business sprang up splendidly, the magic of his 
alleviation of nasal, pharyngial and auditory 
troubles causing those benefited to wax enthusiastic 
in their praises. But although money began stream¬ 
ing in to him he had much to do ere seeking to re¬ 
trieve Freda and to restore his love dream. Within 
a month he brought Luella down and established her 
and the children within a fair distance of the office, 
—not so near that his wife could pry, however. As 
Luella was averse to going out of doors there was 
little likelihood of her being able to do this now 
that the office was out of the home. There were 
many little bills for the doctor to pay, covering 
clothes for the children and for the new furniture 
he bought. The latter included a new parlor suite 
for the home, articles that did not compare favor¬ 
ably with the office furnishings. Evidently Doctor 
Rumford’s estheticism was a selfish trait—or was it 


THE DOCTOR AWAKENS 


305 

because he knew that Luella did not care for these 
things ? 

Now that this man of genius had a definite object 
in view, namely to regain speedily the golden 
splendor of Freda’s love, he became wrought up in 
a fever of endeavor. Upon his office floor was his 
rug dragon and upon his spinet desk the renovated 
bacchant lamp, two conjurers of evil that he perhaps 
might have done better without. In his recollec¬ 
tions of Freda he visioned her only in that sweet 
womanly beauty she had possessed when the gold of 
their hours together had been unalloyed. He told 
himself that it was useless to lament these precious 
hours lost from her companionship whilst the sands 
of life were slowly dripping away; he was deter¬ 
mined that by resolute, vigorous exertion he would 
manage to have her with him again soon, when the 
memory of this separation would be cast into the 
waters of Lethe as but a dream of Ephialtes in their 
passionate awakening into the rehabilitation of their 
love dream. This emprise instilled in him such zeal 
that no amount of labor seemed too much. Morn¬ 
ing, noon and night he plugged away in his office, 
thanking God for sending him this patronage that 
would mould him into a man once more. 

He realized that death and ruin were the ingre¬ 
dients of the diabolical brew, that he could not drink 
from the cup of Bacchus without rousing the fiend’s 
mirth. His greatest fault had been whiskey im¬ 
bibing, still he thought he could not do wholly with¬ 
out the substance at present and kept swallowing 


3 o6 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

a periodic dram to bolster his courage. He 
breathed an inner vow, however, that in his ecstasy 
in repossessing the ravishing Freda he would garner 
strength from her being and do entirely without this 
Devil’s substance. Such is the sophistry of the 
drunkard, ever willing to dispense with his liquor in 
the indefinite future, so long as he can have it in the 
everlasting present. Aye, the doctor promised him¬ 
self, there would be many changes in this revival of 
his love hours with his dulcinea, believing that his 
soul had been purged of its delusions. In this pro¬ 
jected teetotalism the major hindrance to their en¬ 
joyment of Elysian happiness would be abolished, 
and they would exist in the sweetest of love dreams. 
He was assured that he would live a life of utter 
purity albeit he would be an American prince with a 
sort of divided harem. He and Freda would be 
breaking only man's laws, and of what consequence 
were man’s laws when made by such hypocrites as 
Judge Harmon! Freda would be his favorite wife, 
his only wife, if he could bring it to pass. 

Then the catastrophe came. It was in the shad¬ 
ows of evening and he had just finished an operation 
offering unforeseen difficulty. The patient had de¬ 
parted in her limousine with the aid of a nurse, and 
the doctor in cleaning up reached for some blood¬ 
stained towels lying upon the operating table—when 
a dizziness suddenly overcame him. The carpet 
seemed to rise up and dash into his face, striking 
him a severe blow above his right eye and scattering 


THE DOCTOR AWAKENS 


307 


his whirling brain into oblivion. He lay in a dark 
unconscious heap upon the floor. 

He had been overdoing. His brain fibres had de¬ 
teriorated from his alcoholism and could not stand 
the strain of this unremitting effort. Like the mus¬ 
cles of the aging boxer his brain cells had been cap¬ 
able of only a flash of their oldtime form ere they 
thus concertedly collapsed. 

At the moment of the doctor’s fall the 
cavorting and ever laughing demonish bacchanal of 
the Oriental lamp observed, alas, that a shadow 
was wavering at the entry door. Beyond that por¬ 
tal a feminine figure, youthful and of dazzling 
beauty, seemed hesitating,—a hesitancy engendered 
by the ecstasy aroused through expectation of seeing 
one beloved, but dampened by misgivings as to his 
probity, and a bit unnerved because of a slight weak¬ 
ness due to recent illness. Impulse bestirred her to 
open the door, however, her face ashine and 
wreathed by an expectant smile; but her eyes dilated 
with horror when she saw that dark heap upon the 
floor. Stabbed instantly with the belief that the 
worst had happened she emitted a shriek and rushed 
forward and bent over him. Wildest grief dis¬ 
torted her face as she tugged at the prone figure and 
managed to turn him somewhat upon his side. 

A murmur came from his lips, “I—must have— 
fallen!” 

“Sidney! Oh, Sidney!” she cried eagerly. By 
sheer strength of joy she partially raised him, piti- 


308 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

fully flinging her arms around him in her affection¬ 
ate madness and pressing her cheek to his own. 

“I guess the floor came up and hit me,” he spoke, 
still dazed and unaware of her identity. Then a 
glimmer of consciousness stole into him and a hoarse, 
joyous syllable escaped his lips: 

“Freda!” 

His voice broke into a heavy sob—and for a mo¬ 
ment they both wept softly whilst his strong arms 
gripped her in the frenzy of this reunion. 

“I was working so hard to be with you again,” he 
breathed slowly, hazy in his clinging weakness. 

“Oh, Sidney, I’m so glad just to touch you again!” 
she uttered, twining her arms more tightly about him 
and smiling through tears. 

“Never mind, pet,” he spoke, contented in re¬ 
maining in her soft embrace, “everything is going 
to be all right now. I have my business spanking 
along fine. We’ll get a cozy, Oriental nest again, 
only a bigger one, and I’ll make those dear little sons 
of ours proud of their dad. Yes, an’ I’ll reincarcer¬ 
ate their incomparably beautiful mother for now and 
all eternity within this old brain of mine, as the 
sunny, golden, lovely dream woman of my soul! 
Freda mine, you haven’t been out of my thoughts a 
second.” 

“Nor you out of mine, dear,” she sobbed. 

“We’ve certainly suffered a lot,” he agreed. 
“But it’s just the singeing fire of life through which 
one has to pass to get the pin feathers burnt off.” 

Freda noticed the incoherency of his speech, that 


THE DOCTOR AWAKENS 


309 


his mind was not clear. This projected rehabilita¬ 
tion of his longed-for love nest promised supernal 
happiness to him, she realized—if it was not too 
late. There was ill foreboded in this fall of his. 
A movement of his head caused the light to fall upon 
and reveal the injury to his brow, and she exclaimed 
anxiously: 

“Your forehead is swelling!” 

“Well, let me up then,” he laughed. “I’ll be able 
to fix it in a jiffy.” He staggered to his feet, all 
atremble and dizzy. Though he did not apprehend 
it at the moment, he was suffering from vertigo, an 
ailment caused by an improper supply of blood reach¬ 
ing the brain—alcohol is a potent upsetter of the 
circulation. 

“You’d better lock the door,” he said, “for I 
guess I’ll have to rest awhile. My head is bobbing 
like a cork in a choppy sea.” 

His visitor sped to the door and turned the key 
in the lock, loath to be away from him for even that 
second or two. Sorrow at times can give such thrills 
that some persons acquire a mania for it. The doc¬ 
tor sat down upon his leather divan and under his di¬ 
rection Freda secured a bottle of liniment, and then 
as he lay supine she knelt and gently bathed his 
brow. 

Evidently some realization of what this fall meant 
stole into his mind, for a gray sadness settled like a 
dismal cloud upon him. It could not wholly stifle, 
however, the sweet sensations permeating him and 
produced by this intimate nearness and presence here 


3io WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


beside him again of his woman. He feasted upon 
her with his dusky eyes. He little suspected the 
impulse that had been in her heart for days, yielding 
to which would have put an end for ever to their 
project. Nor was he aware of the awful grief that 
was rousing within her in her instinctive comprehen¬ 
sion of his plight, the pangs of this knowledge 
threatening momentarily to cause her to succumb to 
her impulse to burst into a storm of weeping. That 
her Sidney was broken was obvious to her. The 
Demon of Alcohol had destroyed her idol. But 
lest she grieve her stricken paramour she stead¬ 
fastly exhibited a forced cheeriness. To him she 
was as glorified as ever in her undiminishing golden 
halo of beauty. Perhaps his lack of discernment 
was a trick of the artificial lights. He even missed 
the little tears that persisted in escaping and in roll¬ 
ing down her lovely cheeks. In his enchantment 
the afflicted doctor saw only his Freda, the wor¬ 
shipped dream-woman. 

“We’re older now, pet,” he said, clasping her 
hand. “And we won’t make any more mistakes, 
will we?” He did not realize that he was smiting 
her with his every word. “Come, won’t you kiss 
me again?” he pleaded. 

“Oh, yes, Sidney, yes!” she replied in impulsive 
joy, swiftly kissing him upon the cheek. 

“And not upon the lips?” he begged, “don’t you 
love me any more?” 

“Oh, Sidney!—in the grave I’ll love you!” She 


THE DOCTOR AWAKENS 


311 


gripped him hysterically, her head falling to his 
bosom to conceal her tears. 

Not comprehending her remark, he fondly ca¬ 
ressed her golden hair as he entreated, “And will 
you come with me?” 

“Yes!” she replied, her mind visualizing a sepul¬ 
chre. She believed that she would precede him 
thither. 

“We’ll rehabilitate our chamber of Eros in such 
an out-of-the-way spot that no one will disturb us,” 
he spoke merrily, not grasping that other application 
of his words. “We’ll fix up some rooms for the 
youngsters,” he pursued, “where they’ll have the sun¬ 
shine and not annoy us, and I’ll furnish them with 
more toys than the son of Santa has. Freda,” he 
spoke slowly, “you don’t know how wondrously 
beautiful, how gorgeously fascinating you are to 
me.” He held her hands and gazed fondly upon 
her as he added, “We’ll put that old squint-eyed 
joss upon his owl-guarded throne again in a love 
den that will make an Ottoman seraglio look like 
stage scenery. We’ll conjure up an Arabian Nights 
chamber of enchantment and therein my beautiful 
one will be an enravishing, golden-haired princess 
beloved by an awakened prince who will worship 
her, glorify and pamper her beyond her wildest 
dream.” 

Drunk with idolatry, the doctor was a Christian 
contemplating in perspective the life of a heathen 
in an illusory snuggery. He evidently intended 


312 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


that they should be unaffected by the ostracism which 
public opinion would mete them when the green 
vapor again escaped from their vase of iniquity. 
His Oriental vista of romance was a dream-world 
in which full many an unpanoplied adventurer has 
met disaster. “Tell me,” he queried, fondling his 
ministrant’s hand, “are those furnishings still in 
your possession?” 

“I have guarded them most preciously,” she re¬ 
sponded with a happy thrill. “I have never fully 
lost hope of enjoying our dream again.” She 
gently bathed his bruised forehead as she continued, 
“It didn’t seem to me that our squabbles were any 
different from the average. As Nature fashions us 
we are and have to stand for it. But I do wish, 
Sidney, that you would never drink again. Will 
you promise me?” 

“I’ll promise you anything,” he laughed, sup¬ 
pressing within him the anger which this suggestion 
of restraint aroused. He felt capable of mastering 
himself without the help of others. How instantly 

the beloved one becomes a thing apart, a subordi¬ 
nate toy. 

“And you must stick to your avowal,” Freda 
cried, darting a thrilled kiss to his cheek. She felt 
joy in her belief that their dream adventure was to 
be reinstituted. She vowed that this time she 
would be eaglelike in guarding his happiness. 
Swept over her in recollection the ecstatic emotions 
she had experienced while building bird fashion that 
now destroyed love nest, and she was utterly carried 


THE DOCTOR AWAKENS 


3i3 


away with delight in sketching in imagination the 
glories of this promised superdonjon of luxury. 

“I guess I’m not as strong as I was, pet,” her 
dreamer interrupted her meditations. “Ah, I have 
it!” he exploded in sudden inspiration, “I’ll adopt 
that old plan, my dad’s. I’ll get some assistants 
and multiply my profits while they will do the work 
in a sort of clinic.” The doctor was plainly inter¬ 
ested in his beloved’s terrestrial comforts, also in 
his own. If their love dream prove chimerical or 
vanishing it would not be because he had not tried. 
His enravished eyes, gleaming in fascination, 
betrayed his pagan worship of Freda. 

Freda, despite her emotions under this adulation, 
was aflutter with ecstasy, so supernally happy that a 
bit of her former nervousness returned, perhaps 
through fear that some deterring circumstance 
would arise to thwart them. Recurred her trepida¬ 
tion concerning his unnatural fall—what dreadful 
sickness was this that was seizing him? She was set 
atremble, was bestirred by an impulsive desire to fly 
away to some shadowy solitude wherein she could 
forget or wait, and if God eventually granted them 
the resuscitation of their dreamlifc she vowed that 
she would remain true to him, throughout all eter¬ 
nity ! 

The doctor, concerned about things mundane, 
gayly insisted, “And now you must kiss me upon 

the lips!” 

With a spasmodic movement she pressed her soft 
pursed mouth upon his in a warm drawing that to 


314 


WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


her had all the mystery and sorrow of eternity in 
her premonition that it was their farewell. To him 
it was but a rapturous second. She clung to him for 
a few minutes. “Oh, Sidney!” Plainly was her 
heart breaking for no clearly definable reason unless 
it was because she observed that he was but the 
wreck of his former self. Springing up, though her 
hands were fondly retained by him, she averted her 
tear-brimmed eyes as she exclaimed: 

“I can’t see you again for awhile, dear! I can’t 
stand it!—besides, I may be going away—upon a 
journey!” 

He foresaw not the sacrifice she premeditated. 
It was enigmatical to him, but as she vouchsafed 
nothing he deemed it inconsequential. He was too 
filled with the urge to regain their former joy to 
see a mountain where his eyes assured him was an 
ant-hill. He reflected a moment and though loath 
to be denied her companionship decided that it was 
perhaps best, as it would give him the opportunity to 
work and garner the cash needed to reestablish their 
palace of voluptuous love. 

“Well,” he agreed, “I’ll hustle and get the where¬ 
withal and if you get time you might search out a 
new nest for us.” His eyes were merry. “I too 
doubt that I would get much done if I had your 
witchery captivating and alluring me prematurely 
to quaff again of your Elysian cup of leisure. But 
you will surely come back to me when I’m ready,” 
he asked. 

With her eyes swimming she nodded affirmatively 


THE DOCTOR AWAKENS 


3i5 


and breathed, Wes.” Her every fibre was taut in 
the effort to restrain her emotions, the cry of “Oh, 
God!” hovering upon her lips. 

Intuition told him that something was wrong, but 
with a weak smile he acquiesced in her departure 
while he continued to feast his sight upon her. 

She drew her quivering hand from his and hur¬ 
ried to the door, where she paused and gazing back 
at him with a wry little smile waved her hand in 
adieu, backed through the doorway and departed. 
It was not until she was descending the stairs, be¬ 
yond his hearing, that her suppressed sobs broke. 
In her mind was that clinging fear that they would 
never see each other again! This fearful premoni¬ 
tion frenzied her, for while religiously basking in a 
faith in immortality one’s more logical sober self 
seems ever confronted by arguments suggesting the 
absolute finality, the utter oblivion of death. She 
was tempted to go back to her Sidney to bear with 
him to the last, but her limbs persisted in following 
the dictate of reason. 

Thus it occurred that the project remained in full 
swing upon this night. The doctor lay in quietude 
a while, his senses remaining dark from his vertigo. 
He was half consciously beginning to diagnose his 
condition. In his weakness he became doubly aware 
that he would not be able to do personally all that 
he wished to. His lips still smarted from the pun¬ 
gent liniment which he believed Freda had forgot¬ 
ten was upon her perfumed handkerchief. His 
every fibre continued to sense her as if she were 


3 i6 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

still there beside him; it had been an odd trick of 
her wraith to cling thus about him, keeping him en¬ 
meshed within her silky snare like a male butterfly 
entrapped in a conservatory of exotic flowers. 

Aye, like the phantom of a dream she had come 
to him—and gone again. But she would return 
when he wished. Everything was all right! She 
was the same Freda—ah, how divine, how superbly 
beautiful she had looked! His golden-haloed ma¬ 
donna ! He visualized her holding their last child. 
He wondered what those little lads were like now. 
He would inculcate in them goodness and a desire 
for world work. No longer did he harbor hatred 
or suspicion of their parentage. That had been the 
viciousness of alcoholism, from which his mind was 
now free and clear. They were his own little sons, 
his love children, the finest babies born, because the 
product of an ideal union where love was the only 
lure. All other factors had been prearranged by 
nature, including the eugenic physical perfection of 
himself and Freda. He felt that these youngsters 
would grow up most like their father in accordance 
with that old adage that when the man is overmas- 
teringly fond of the woman the children are more 
markedly his image. His heart hungered for these 
sons as it had never yearned for his other children, 
and he wished to hasten the hour when he would 
have them to himself. 

He remembered that his unjust suspicion of their 
paternity had cost him the respect of his wife 
through his nocturnal dreaming aloud, but he re- 


THE DOCTOR AWAKENS 


3i7 


fused to think upon the matter further than to in¬ 
clude it with the other flotsam that he and Freda 
must throw from their pretty bark after this tem¬ 
pest. Thank God, nothing serious had befallen 
Freda! He would convert any supposititious sin 
she possessed into jetsam when they embarked in 
new serenity upon their sea of bliss, and if, like the 
corpses that stay down for nine days then float up¬ 
ward again with ghastly aspect, this ignominy should 
rise up at some future hour and confront her, he 
vowed he would find a way to resink it with crush¬ 
ing force into those poisonous depths. They 
would live in such perfect rectitude as to put the 
lie to any such calumny. As for his own disgrace 
pursuing him, he laughed as he ruminated how 
easily he could discredit it, he, a superior savant en¬ 
gaged in the divine task of alleviating suffering; 
anyway such things were allowable with a man. 
True, there were hypocrites aplenty, a multitude of 
Judge Harmons and a superfluity of prudish ladies, 
withered homely creatures to whom man was sour 
grapes, but he would be careful not to be unduly 
intimate with these species in future. His illness, 
however, was the vital thing; and this he would not 
let master him. 

With a rush of vigor he rose and rubbed his head 
between his hands. Flooded with inspiration he 
studied out his new plan. Aye, he would conduct 
his office according to his dad’s procedure, have 
hirelings do all the work under his supervision ex¬ 
cept that he himself would handle the more difficult 


3 i8 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


cases. These labors would not overtax him. 
Moreover, when the plan was working smoothly it 
would afford him greater leisure to spend with 
Freda. He would begin on the morrow, for there 
were plenty of these hirelings available, born slaves 
like Joh, who, by the way, was busy these days help¬ 
ing Luella fix up her latest home. Doctor Rumford 
rose, discovering his senses to be still reeling. Con¬ 
sequently he decided that a wee nip would not hurt 
him, that it would clarify his mind, albeit a hair of 
the dog that bit him. He fetched the bottle from 
that selfsame cabinet and poured into a crystalline 
glass a potent amber dram, his face brightening 
with the radiance of impatient hope as he poised the 
scintillant potion before him a moment and breathed 
into the darkness: 

“To Freda! my goddess incomparable! may I 
soon possess you again, my love-woman!” 

Could Freda but have been there in truth and 
have stayed his hand! Quaffing that amber fluid, in 
his sparkling soul he revisioned Freda standing in 
vivid verisimilitude there before him. But it is only 
the Devil’s toast that is drunk with alcohol. The 
physician journeyed homeward that night with a 
faster beating but lightened heart. His subse¬ 
quent slumbers were filled with such a soft sibi- 
lance, with such gentle breathings emanating from 
sweet love dreams, and with so frequent sensuous 
tossing as must have aroused Luella’s suspicions 
were she at all observing. But this motherly per¬ 
sonage was probably quite beyond being shocked fur- 


THE DOCTOR AWAKENS 


3i9 


ther by him, for though lightning may strike twice 
in the same place it cannot have the same material 
to wound. 

The afternoon of the morrow found Doctor Rum- 
ford with extra men in his office as planned, one 
of them on part time. With these two and Joh the 
office force totaled four. The physician rapidly dis¬ 
covered, however, that his own physical and mental 
condition was at such low ebb that he could scarcely 
bear up,—a fact that maddened him. His new chief 
assistant was a tall, blond-bearded youngish man, 
Jordan Bruce, a name as false as his medical di¬ 
ploma. Doctor Rumford was unaware that the 
man was simply an adventurer living upon his nerve. 
It is easy to plan to use human beings as pawns to 
one’s advantage in the game of life, but ever arises 
the human element. 

Jordon Bruce was not in the office long ere he 
began to fascinate young women patients and in¬ 
veigle them into engagement with him although 
he had a lawful wife and children, and it was not 
long ere at least one enraged papa came to ask him 
why he did not marry his daughter, there having 
arisen sufficient reason for it. Bruce followed a 
system. Some of the girls brought him love gifts 
such as boxes of perfumed soap possibly wherewith 
to wash his soul; others gave him exotic perfumes 
with which to enhance his allurement, and these gifts 
he immediately handed over to the next comer in lieu 
of purchased tokens, for coin was not excessively 
plentiful under his prodigal regime. He quickly 


320 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


usurped mastery of the office. He augmented his 
earnings by cashing his employer’s checks through 
the medium of a friendly saloonkeeper, and these 
garnerings he spent in debauchery in that luxurious 
medical sanctum during its rightful owner’s enforced 
absence. 

After the passage of a few days, however, phrases 
of a whispered conversation came to the doctor’s 
ears while he was working in the office, sibilant voic- 
ings which revealed that the bearded one had figured 
in many escapades, that he had been a dispatch 
bearer in some foreign warfare, and also that he was 
wanted by the police. 

The evil are the quickest to suspect evil; knowing 
all the ins and outs of the game they are not dila¬ 
tory in putting one and one together. Bruce 
speedily divined the doctor’s trouble. He wormed 
it from the latter word by word. Suave and hand¬ 
some, the captivating rascal habitually spoke softly, 
enticingly and with a semiconcealed smile. He 
gave this love-mad doctor advice wrought of long 
experience, though he was really laughing at the 
man. Bruce was figuring how to get an escapade 
out of the affair for himself and was not long in 
hitting the nail upon the head—Luella! The proj¬ 
ect was too audacious to be rushed at too quickly, 
but as a tentative approach he spoke to his superior 
critically: 

“Now, the matter with you, Doc, is that you 
are figuring on meeting expenses that are too many- 
You can’t hope to run two homes on a medical 


THE DOCTOR AWAKENS 


321 


practice. Your friend will need all you can earn. 
Get rid of your other brood! Chuck the kids in¬ 
to some orphan asylum! What does any man want 
to be annoyed with kids for? They’re only for 
women. It will be very simple then to get a 
divorce from your wife.” 

Thus spoke the Devil through the medium of 
his disciple, or perchance the Archfiend was en¬ 
joying mortal incarnation in this man’s body. More 
surely were the blue-limned dragon of the Chinese 
rug and the laughing dancing bacchanal of the 
brass Oriental lamp merrily enjoying this endeavor 
to add further woe to the doctor’s already weighty 
burden. 

The doctor bristled a second, aroused to the 
point of resenting this effrontery, but his seducer 
was too learned in the art of winning converts to 
his mode of life. So unrestrainable were the un¬ 
holy cravings of the doctor’s heart that he found 
himself considering the suggestions seriously. He 
questioned Jordan doubtfully, “But the evidence 
against her?” 

“Oh, leave that to me!” the smooth-toned scape¬ 
grace laughed. “I’ll fix that for you to the queen’s 
taste!” 

This lightly-spoken remark shot a flash of anger 
into the doctor’s mind so that he was again moved 
to strike the man but he checked his emotion in the 
belief that the fellow could not mean anything per¬ 
sonal, that he was merely proffering help. Con¬ 
sidering his illness, the doctor felt that perhaps it 


322 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


was the only way left to attain the supernal hap¬ 
piness his soul craved. Bruce had seen the scowl 
and he remarked with false assurance: 

“You know I don’t mean to offend you, Doc. 
I’ll just compromise her. I’ve a wife and family 
I’m too fond of to be untrue to.” He was inwardly 
shaking with laughter. 

The physician gave no undue thought to Jordan’s 
purposes but he did spend many wretched hours 
thereafter meditating upon this most cruel of proj¬ 
ects. His yearning for Freda was so feverish, 
his hunger to possess her again was so thoroughly 
overmastering, that he decided no deed could be 
heinous that would win so celestial a boon. After 
all, no harm would be done, he concluded. Luella’s 
coldness toward him evidenced that he was un¬ 
suited to her, and as she apparently had never truly 
loved him he could not see how she would miss him. 
He measured love by the quantity of caresses 
given, not taking into account the difference in tem¬ 
peraments. He did not understand Luella’s sort of 
love,—the desire to be a good, true wife and not a 
romantic plaything. 

In a further discussion of the subject he was 
assured by Bruce that in the orphan asylum the 
children would receive the best of care, that they 
would be restrained by strict eyes that would keep 
them from mischief. In other words they would 
be even better protected there than if in their 
mother’s care. A palpable falsehood! 

In this quick passage of events since his discover- 


THE DOCTOR AWAKENS 


323 


ment by Freda as an inert heap upon his darkened 
floor the doctor contrary to her wishes was drinking 
steadily again, and the spirit of alcohol, which is 
the essence of the Devil’s soul, is the greatest of 
casuists. In his mentally impoverished and physi¬ 
cally incapacitated condition, forlorn of all hope of 
winning his love project otherwise, Doctor Rum- 
ford listened to this diabolical tempting until he 
finally decided to risk the scheme. 

He sent Joh to an asylum with a letter explaining 
his sickness and destitution and pleading for the 
acceptance of the children into their care for a 
while, he agreeing to pay a small charge. Mis¬ 
led as to the facts of the case, the officials agreed. 

Going then to the Rumford home the vassal 
gayly spoke to Luella, “Doc wants the older kids 
to take them to a place where they’ll have a good 
time.” 

The oldest, little Bartholomew, Zaida and 
Franz, were out of doors playing somewhere, and 
consequently escaped. Five of the younger ones 
were taken away by Joh. 

When Luella subsequently learned from this 
menial her children’s cruel fate she immediately 
flew into tempestuous tears and sent for her mother. 
The latter gave Joh a resounding lecture. She 
might better have talked to the wall. Joh’s soul 
was as callous as leather to all things save his 
master’s bidding. 

Upon his return home the physician succeeded 
in pacifying his wife by asserting, “I have done this 


324 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

merely to tide me over my present difficulties. My 
health necessitates that I reduce expenses but I 
will soon be upon my feet again. Then you can 
have your children if you wish.” He was patently 
in an intoxicated condition. Whatever pangs of re¬ 
morse he had primarily experienced had evidently 
been deadened by an excessive indulgence in alco¬ 
holic beverages. His craving to regain Freda was 
an all-powerful stimulus that would brook no inter¬ 
ference. 

On the following day Bruce set forth upon his 
mission. Sid’s home at this time was an apartment 
one flight up—not very pretentious. In conse¬ 
quence of her husband’s duplicity in connection with 
their children Luella was growing suspicious of 
his every move and of everything pertaining to 
him in her life, and accordingly it did not take 
her long to see through her unwelcome visitor. 
His avowals of infatuation and attempts at liber¬ 
ties thoroughly shocked her. She swiftly divined 
the plot underlying it all, and became filled with 
such anger that scarcely a minute of the interview 
elapsed ere Bruce was scuttling down the stairs 
doubly assured that there was no other wrath like 
a woman’s. As a climax to her fiery dismissal 
of him the infuriated wife called down after him, 
“And you can tell my husband I don’t thank him 
for his opinion of me—you dirty scamp!” 

Thus did Bruce’s plot fail, but he consoled him¬ 
self and gained requital thereafter by filching 
from the business every penny he could lay his 


THE DOCTOR AWAKENS 


325 


fingers upon, taking the bread from Luella’s mouth 
and the very roof from over her head. Rent and 
installments upon furniture became due, everything 
threatened to go to smash, yet Doctor Rumford’s 
soul remained steeped in physical and mental an¬ 
guish. Instead of keeping a clear head and force¬ 
fully directing his affairs into a better condition, 
he continued to give himself up to the sensuous 
emotions derived from sipping the blood of the 
Devil. His morning drams bolstered him up; his 
evening nips drowned his sorrows. By bedtime he 
was staggering in befuddlement. Threatened con¬ 
tinually by vertiginous darkness he was quite un¬ 
able to accomplish any work. Physically, spiritu¬ 
ally, he was fast sinking into the metaphorical and 
actual gutter that is inevitably the goal of the 
drunkard. All-powerful as was his desire to re¬ 
gain Freda he was not winning her. He was, in¬ 
stead, defrauding her of her cherished dream; was 
in all respects breaking his promise to her, para¬ 
doxically made impotent by meditation upon what 
he yearned for most. 

But Jordan Bruce was equal to the occasion. 
He breathed some further advice to his employer 
with the same artlessness as before. 

“Doc,” he spoke softly, “why don’t you increase 
your fire insurance on the old shebang—treble its 
value? You have a lot of stuff in this office that 
flames would eat like tinder. Let ’em all go up 
in a puff of smoke—and there, you’re a rich 
man!” 


326 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


Although the doctor scowled angrily at this 
further effrontery, his honor had already been so 
blunted by Freda’s irresistible lure that despite his 
injured pride he presently came around to his be- 
guiler’s way of thinking and accepted the vicious 
proposition. 

“When you get the dough you can beat it with 
your girl friend. You’re a doctor and so can’t 
practice under another name”—Bruce laughed in¬ 
wardly—“but you won’t have to for many moons, 
and meanwhile your wife will get sick of her grass 
widowhood—and divorce will come natural to her. 
She’s a mighty fine woman, too chock full of fire 
to stand neglect!” This Beelzebub seemed to enjoy 
keenly the influencing of his superior’s emotions. 
He watched covertly that inherent anger rise in an 
irate flush about the physician’s eyes, but he under¬ 
estimated the amount of latent ferocity that burned 
within the whiskey-inflamed soul of this erratic man 
of genius. Luella, who undoubtedly set a higher 
value upon life than did this world adventurer, had 
recently discerned this alcoholic, violent passion 
smouldering ominously in her husband’s bosom, 
and she rightly feared him. It was an easily pro¬ 
voked fiendishness that might at any moment be 
productive of deliberate bloodshed. The doctor 
was far from being impotent or dead as yet. 

“Of course,” continued Bruce with laughter, 
“I’d want something out of this incendiarism my¬ 
self, say a third. You can let Joh have a third or 
anything you please and keep the balance. I 


THE DOCTOR AWAKENS 


327 


wouldn’t let that other assistant know anything 
about the affair. But Joh’s all right; he’ll do it 
all if you say so.” The disciple of Satan smiled, 
in the knowledge that he had correctly sized up 
Joh. 

The inebriate physician knew the penalty for 
arson, but nevertheless he nerved himself with the 
assurance that a guiding star was protecting him, 
since no punishment had as yet befallen him for his 
undoubtedly criminal accident that had hastened, 
by a few seconds at least, the demise of Patrick, or 
for his bigamy, or for aught else wrong he had 
done. His major crime was his hideous impair¬ 
ment of his body and brain by his senseless imbibi¬ 
tion of that poisonous beverage. He and his 
paramour were Adam and Eve reborn and seeking 
to return surreptitiously into the garden of Eden. 
Had they been thrown together in the gray respect¬ 
ability of married life their romance might have 
snuffed out like a wick without oil or have burned 
as blackly in the satiety with which even supernal 
beauty cloys. 

The doctor was mastered by that celestial vision 
eternally hovering before his eyes, the fascinating 
visualization of his vividly colored love nest blend¬ 
ing into his contemplated enchanted donjons en¬ 
compassing Freda and his matchless love children. 

But the weakness of his flesh, the vertiginous 
impotence of his mentality, the guerdons of his 
hourly tippling, had prevented him from building 
up that needed greater office as planned. Not be- 


328 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

ing able to master himself he had proven incapable 
of dominating others, but was himself influenced 
by his employees. Though madly craving Freda, 
the swallowing of the toper’s dram periodically 
during the day and night had become an act as 
natural as was his breathing. 

Since he had failed to rid himself of his lawfully 
wedded wife there apparently remained to him 
naught but to betake himself and his Freda else¬ 
where. He was loath to burn his precious posses¬ 
sions, but whilst sitting intensely pensive in his 
operative chamber he decided to tempt fate by this 
incendiarism. His body thrilled with a surge of 
hope, yet he trembled when a moment later he gave 
his sanction. Anything! Aye, anything to re¬ 
habilitate his dream life with Freda! 

Came the hour for the enactment of the deed. 
A certain closet centrally located was considered 
to be the most advantageous place for starting the 
flames as they could branch outward and get good 
headway before being seen from the street. But 
how to get combustible material therein without 
arousing subsequent suspicion? Bruce had been 
reading many of the doctor’s dime novels thrown 
carelessly on a shelf in a side room. Hitting up¬ 
on them instantly he revolved the matter in his 
mind a moment then advised that the young Rum- 
ford sons, Bartholomew and Franz, be sent for. 
That a fire should result from the carelessness of 
children would not seem so unnatural; it would 
baffle investigation. Joh fetched the youngsters. 


THE DOCTOR AWAKENS 


329 


I hey were put to work arranging these multitudi¬ 
nous pamphlets in chronological order, the gaudily 
covered, tawdry cover sketches of ruffianism pleas¬ 
ing the lads immensely and making their task cheery 
if laborious. They piled the booklets in neat ar¬ 
ray in the chosen closet,—this incendiarism a con¬ 
gruous deed for such literature. 

When the streets were quite deserted at a late 
hour that night Joh did the remaining work, made 
himself liable to years of imprisonment simply to 
do the bidding of a man who was to a degree in¬ 
sane from alcohol. Nothing fazed Joh, whether 
it be bronco busting or enduring a woman’s wrath. 
He probably would have taken up prison life with 
the same serenity as characterized him whether 
rolling a cigarette, decapitating a luckless chicken, 
or putting oil upon his mortal substance to spoil 
the feast of his myriad small red bedfellows. Like 
Nero, his was the hand that set this miniature world 
afire, this chamber of Oriental demons of rug and 
lamp. 

Jordan Bruce did not take a hand in this last 
scene. Doctor Rumford himself hastened home at 
a later hour than usual. It seemed to Luella that 
he glided weirdly into his home like some guilty 
thing filled with fear. He hurriedly disrobed and 
slid into his bed. Calling Luella he told her the 
secret and revealed that this was part of the plan, 
for him to simulate sickness, and if she were ques¬ 
tioned she was to declare that he had been ill abed 
hours before the fire occurred. The doctor had 


330 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


absolute confidence in her wifely faithfulness nor 
was he mistaken in his trust, for Luella was willing 
to do anything to shield him, knowing that the deed 
, was beyond her control and was purely a result of 
his alcoholic insanity. He did not tell her the true 
object of his crime. Luella could perceive, how¬ 
ever, that he was tremulous with fear of discovery 
and that his eyes were burning as with some insup- 
pressible desire. 

The fire officials were unable to learn the Rum- 
ford home address that night, but the news was 
transmitted to the doctor in the morning that his 
office had been partly burned at midnight. This 
dreadful information was received by the household 
with a feigned shock that was not so feigned on the 
physician’s part, however. Only partly burned— 
that meant insurance to the value of the damaged 
goods only. Again his plan had gone awry! If 
there was a natal star protecting his happiness it 
was failing him continually. Possibly his combined 
evil genius and protecting spirit had been that ever 
mischievously cavorting Oriental bacchanal of the 
brass lamp which, alack, he had left to burn in those 
yellow flames within that grotto of fire. It had 
stuck by him to the last but he had undone its magic 
by committing it to its natural element. Upon re¬ 
ceipt of this disappointing news the physician gave 
up in despair and lay upon his bed a sick man indeed. 

A few days later he managed to drag himself 
from the couch and went to the company’s office to 
have the insurance adjusted. Perhaps his unstrung 


THE DOCTOR AWAKENS 


33i 


nerves made them suspicious; at any rate in final 
settlement he was handed by the insurance company 
only a hundred dollars; nor did he have the daring 
to protest although the sum covered but a fraction 
of the damage done. He was well punished for 
his deed. His office was in ruins. What the smoke 
and heat had not destroyed the firemen with their 
water and axes had. His fine spinet desk had 
burned, and among other things his dancing bac¬ 
chanal lamp was a melted shapeless mass, as hide¬ 
ous as a dead, disintegrated body. Where the 
blue-limned demon of the rug had been was but a 
charred ragged hole. Their evil-working was at 
an end. The firemen had hurled the dime novels 
into the street and there they lay in a sodden heap 
further disgracing their erstwhile reader. 

Jordan Bruce did not show up for his share of 
this insurance money. Possibly he had clung 
around in the shadows until he had observed the 
scheme become a failure. He was never heard of 
again. To him it marked merely another adven¬ 
ture in a very adventurous life. 

The ominousness that hovered in the air evidently 
gave Joh a sharp scare when he came to realize 
to some extent the enormity of what he had done. 
It was a step too deep for him. He immediately 
obtained another position, having learned many 
things about the doctor’s profession that would 
make him of use to other physicians. In his next 
job he received ten dollars per week, which made 
him feel so cocky that he straightway purchased 


332 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


a silk hat! A contributing stimulus to this pur¬ 
chase was undoubtedly the fact that in the after¬ 
noon of this fatal day of incendiarism when he had 
gone to the Rumford home to fetch the boys for 
their part in the deed little Zaida and Franz in 
playing with his new brown derby had accidentally 
poked their fists through it. Or possibly Joh’s 
chiefest purpose in purchasing that glossy stove¬ 
pipe was to ensnare some of those pretty “chick¬ 
ens” in a-la-Bruce mode. 

Doctor Rumford returned from his abortive 
quest for insurance money with his soul sickened, 
the goal of his life now wholly obscured. When 
his thoughts turned to Freda, his every fibre 
aroused with burning desire. Though now with¬ 
out office, reputation, physical or mental strength 
he refused to admit defeat. He felt that if he 
could but overcome this enervation he could get 
swiftly upon his feet again. It is one of the subtle 
deceptions instilled by the colorless blood of the 
Devil’s cup that the imbiber can at will “get upon 
his feet again.” In his pitiful plight the doctor 
was not aware of the ruinous extent of irrevocable 
disaster he had suffered. 

When he entered his home on this night he 
was just in time to receive a telegram relayed to 
him from his office. He had repaired to his bed¬ 
chamber and was doffing his clothes preparatory to 
retiring when Luella sent little Elsie in with the 
unopened message. From the ordeal he had 
undergone and the frustration of his hopes he was 


THE DOCTOR AWAKENS 


333 


fast verging upon collapse. Yet he vowed within 
him that he would win—to Freda, to his dream 
in its entirety! The Devil and all his minions 
would not stop him! He held the yellow enve¬ 
lope until the child had scampered from the room, 
then he opened it and what he read wrung a fren¬ 
zied sob from him. His consciousness wavered 
a moment, then he crumpled upon his bed—bereft 
of his senses. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE LITTLE JOURNEY TAKEN 

S OME hours prior to the moment when Doc¬ 
tor Rumford suffered collapse Freda was 
lying in that dainty bed of her maidenhood, 
ornate with cane panels and delicate garlands of 
tiny flowers and canopied with expensive silk. 
She was quite alone in this beautiful chamber, on 
the upper floor of her maternal home. The wan¬ 
ing daylight filtering through the filmy lace of the 
window curtains penetrated but faintly into that 
indoor gloominess that gives one the sense of utter 
loneliness. Some serious project evidently obsessed 
her thoughts; her eyes were dilated with fright. 

That project nearly had been consummated, but 
she had faltered after swallowing but half the lethal 
potion, an insufficiency that had produced terrible 
pains burning like smouldering fire within her for an 
eternity but which now at last were quieted through 
the medium of opiates. The attending medical 
man must have known the cause of her illness but 
he made no comment upon it, believing her failure 
signified her change of heart. He wished to put 
her upon a diet but she inveigled him into permit¬ 
ting her to eat anything she wished—even as the 

condemned in the death house are permitted epi- 

334 


THE LITTLE JOURNEY TAKEN 


335 


curean repasts preceding the instant when is sprung 
beneath them the fatal trap or the lethal electric 
current is shot into their bursting veins. 

Unlike Brutus, Freda needed no one to hold the 
spear. During these hours of quietude that she had 
spent in pondering upon that Beyond and its con¬ 
nection with this life she had achieved philo¬ 
sophical truths that had come to her too late. In 
this desolate meditation her eyes wandered about 
this room that recalled to her the many scenes that 
had transpired herein since her childhood. In the 
dimming past there was her infantile game of play¬ 
ing house with her big, fluffy doll. Then in her 
early school days had come the hours spent in 
laboriously deciphering, not the instructive words 
of her school books, but the phrases of the fasci¬ 
nating hectic literature her mother was in the habit 
of reading. In her teens had come the animated 
hours preceding her departure for boarding school. 
Last of her treasured memories was that most 
thrilling of all moments, that hour which had 
seemed so full of promise when she had joined the 
doctor in that unsanctioned wedding. She heaved 
a deep sigh in pondering upon this—why had it 
all come to naught? Was she but Satan’s bride? 
In following her chosen path had she but joined 
the fold of the Betrayer whose highest conception 
of happiness is corruption and disaster? 

Long and miserable had been these few years in 
this bedchamber. She had never permitted the 
doctor to set his foot herein but had kept this 


336 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

bower of her birth always as clean and holy as it 
had been in her natal hour. It had always been 
her sanctuary and from it her soul would go to 
her Creator. She vowed she was not afraid, albeit 
remorseful for this prematurity and unholy manner 
of her going. 

Sidney was striving so nobly to redeem him¬ 
self!—this was the thought constantly upon her 
mind. But she was the stumbling block to his suc¬ 
cess ! He was struggling so vainly to make every¬ 
thing possible for them, fighting against sickness 
and other vicissitudes. But she knew he never 
could win true happiness or achieve great things so 
long as she remained his shrine and goal. How 
good and true he had proved himself, after all, and 
how she loved him, how she regretted the blow her 
death would smite him. As the sunset colors en¬ 
tered and patchily rainbow tinted her room this 
late afternoon, her craving to have him there with 
her became so great that she was on the verge of 
sending for him, but with clenched fists she sup¬ 
pressed the impulse. She must not fail—she would 
not destroy the one shred of happiness still left to 
him in his faith that she was coming back to him. 
Perhaps—when it all was over—he would be 
cheered by the knowledge that she was quite out of 
her suffering and was waiting there— Beyond f for 
him. She wept scalding tears into her pillow un¬ 
til it seemed as if she would cry herself blind. 

She meditated that she had no right to him. 
She was partly the cause of the ruin that had be- 



THE LITTLE JOURNEY TAKEN 


337 


fallen him. Her fingers clenched painfully as she 
gathered strength to essay more successfully her 
self destruction. She thought for a moment upon 
the deeds he had enacted—his accidental homicide 
—his praying importunately for his wife’s death— 
and his imprudent, incessant drinking of whiskey! 
She went through quite all the details of his life 
since that critical day when they first had met in his 
office, and, considering how manfully he was re¬ 
deeming himself now, she concluded that all the 
evil was the direct result of his mind being ruled 
by the fiends of alcohol. Why had she tempted 
him to drink that initial glass? She could have 
won him by other means, for he was extremely im¬ 
pressionable. All the ruin of these many moons 
she was aware had been caused by that first drink. 
And this body of hers had been the enticement 
when he had first drained it. 

She realized that death is the end of all things 
and only too often comes when life is at its highest 
tide. Her Sidney’s perfect flower was going to be 
clipped and wither. Her eyes rested for a moment 
upon the mirrors of her vanity, in the silvery 
depths of which she had so often seen herself so 
gayly reflected. 

She saw how unfailing is the punishment of sin. 
She saw plainly that the doctor’s every heinous act 
had been performed through the impulses arising 
from his desire to possess her, that although whiskey 
had been the force sustaining him in his downward 
course, her beautiful physical body had been the act- 



338 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

ual lure, and for this they were being punished. 
She had been a modern Cleopatra and he another 
Antony, pursued by a nemesis they could not deter 
nor defeat, and now had come the hour she must 
suffer the sting of the asp. Had the laws per¬ 
mitted them to join hands in life, she believed that 
in this cloak of sanctity they would have known 
none of this evil and sorrow but only unending joy 
of living. That this man imbued with medical 
lore should have loved her so much as to stoop 
to fiendishness aroused vanity’s smile a second in 
her heart. How dearly bought was a woman, if 
the man wished to possess her in entirety. The 
price paid must be nothing less than all the de¬ 
votion and earnings of his life, and his honor. 

On the other hand, how cheaply a woman of the 
world sells the precious drops of her nectar, which 
is nectar no longer. Nay, not so cheaply. For 
is it not written that so surely as ye sin ye shall 
suffer punishment! It had been difficult to see these 
truths of life clearly, until now when its glamour 
and lure were going beyond her reach forever. 
In a whimsical mood she reflected upon the different 
lives she might have led: true marriage to the man 
she loved, or the evil life suggested by the erratic 
philosophy of her mother. Honor thy mother— 
so instructed the Bible, a perplexity. Had this 
so called sacred book any true connection with the 
Great Beyond, the infinite eternity that is the super¬ 
chariot of existence? 

She knew that she was taking her life because 


THE LITTLE JOURNEY TAKEN 


339 


she would no longer permit herself to be a party 
to evil. She had come to the point where she 
could not bear the thought of having been even the 
controlling factor in the destruction of Mrs. Rum- 
ford’s happiness. She had caused this havoc, but 
she would do what she could to remedy it. And 
now her Sidney could start his great climb again, 
and if she were permitted to meet him in the Here¬ 
after he would tell her of his great triumph. A 
wry smile flitted about her pale lips. 

Had there been anything so immoral about their 
little love nest? Had it been any way different to 
wedlock except more beautiful? Was monogamy, 
that compulsory maintenance of the initial mar¬ 
riage bond, another error of the Bible? And if that 
sacred book was false—if there was no heaven, 
then she would never meet Sidney again! The 
thought aroused terror in her soul and she cried 
out—a cry that was filled with the wildness of one 
entombed alive. 

Mrs. Warner came running in haste from her 
bedroom across the hall. Her eyes were red. 

“What’s the matter, dear!’’ she exclaimed. 

“Oh, mother, there must be a heaven! Oh, I 
wish Sidney were here! Terrrible thoughts of 
death keep coming to me and he could comfort 
me!” 

“I don’t understand why you carry on so; you 
are all right now. I will send for Sidney at once 
—I told you I would if you’d only let me,” prof¬ 
fered the anxious parent. 


340 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 

“No, no; don’t! I don’t want him to see me 
this way!” 

“Well, I don’t blame you, but he brought you to 
this!” deprecated Mrs. Warner though she did 
not know the real cause of her daughter’s condi¬ 
tion. 

“No, mother, you—you brought me to this! 
You put all these ideas into my head and you 
have never tried to save me! And may God have 
mercy on your soul!” 

“Hush, hush!” cried the elder, in hysterics. 
“Oh, daughter dear, you don’t know how you are 
hurting me. I too am suffering!” 

“Well, I don’t wish to have Sidney suffer too—” 

“You had no need to be in this predicament,” 
pursued the mother. “If you had kept your mind 
less on him and more on taking care of yourself 
you would have been saved this.” 

Cheered for the moment by her mother’s pres¬ 
ence, Freda gazed critically at her as she asked 
pointedly, “Then, mother, how did you get ill?” 

Her hearer, having seated herself upon a chair, 
squirmed uneasily. “Oh, of course, it comes to us 
sooner or later. Every one dies. Some strain 
their tomatoes but the Grim One gets them just 
the same.” 

“I think you don’t believe in heaven,” commented 
Freda. 

The listener shrugged her shoulders and laughed 
rather sinfully as she responded, “Oh, all men go 
wild over women!—and I don’t think He will be 



THE LITTLE JOURNEY TAKEN 


34 r 


any different; at least, He won’t see us come to any 
harm ! Anyway, as we are made He made us!” 

Freda reflected an instant; this profane jesting 
aroused her fear of retributive punishment and 
caused her to ponder again on this obsessing theme. 
Presently she spoke slowly, “Oh, I think, mother 
—that this idea of the punishment of sin which man 
believes in is based upon the actual outcome of our 
actions, like all these troubles of mine. The re¬ 
taliatory pain is not spiritual as the ministers claim 
but is wholly physical and meted us upon this earth. 
Our punishment is as positive as the burning of our 
flesh by a match held to it. . . .” 

“Unless you wet your skin, daughter dear.” 

“No, mother; as you yourself have said, the 
flames get us in the end unless we withdraw the 
match. Or, at least, sin is not sin only because of 
the divine law but more certainly because of the 
evils that will be incurred here by the sinner, the 
suffering of pain and of death. Theft is punished 
by imprisonment, murder by a pitiful execution, or 
remorse which proves even more deadly. Yes, 
mother, we are all punished for our sins here, and 
I am paying the price. . . .” Her bosom ex¬ 
panded with a quivering sob. 

Flashed into her mind her own children—the 
motherless misery to which she was leaving them. 
Instantly all her fatal resolutions fled from her mind 
—she must live!—for them! She roused up in 
frenzied, desperate opposition to the fate overtak¬ 
ing her. There was an instant of terrific pain as 



342 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


she struggled for breath and cried, “Oh, mother!” 
She rose further in her fright, her eyes wildly dis¬ 
tended. She screamed, “Oh, mother, save me ! Oh, 
send for him—for Sidney! I’m dying!” Her words 
dragged from her throat spasmodically. “Oh, 
hurry! Oh, tell Sidney—I love him! that I will 
wait for him there —always! Oh, God—my ba¬ 
bies!” 

Upon the vanity case in that room of tragedy 
was Doctor Rumford’s Omar Khayyam open at a 
page which read: 

“Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who 
Before us pass’d the door of Darkness through, 

Not one returns to tell us of the Road, 

Which to discover we must travel too.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


REDEMPTION 

jf Y daughter Freda died at six o’clock this 
% / ^ evening.” The words of the telegram 
stabbed themselves like fiery barbs into 
Doctor Rumford’s heart. He had been cheated of 
all that he had paid such a ruinous price to gain. 
His Freda was dead! As he sat upon his bed’s 
edge, quivering with convulsive sobs, it seemed as 
if his soul would shatter within him. 

Although this violent weeping eventually moder¬ 
ated somewhat there crept into his tortured mind 
something of the philosophy of a madman. He 
realized the utter catastrophe that had befallen him. 
This was the way of God, then. When a man 
tried to do right a special emissary was sent down, 
a Marguerite to lure him to the Devil! In his mad 
reasoning it appeared singular to him that man had 
been made in the image of God, since this god was 
a jealous god who plainly did not wish man to usurp 
the qualities of Christ. Man must sin, always sin, 
that he might deserve the Holy One’s pity! Freda 
had been a minion of these celestial Powers and 
and had done her work well ere going back to them! 

Then he drew his hands down over his ashen face 

and cast these morbid fancies from his mind; they 

343 




344 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


were false, the hallucinations of approaching insan¬ 
ity. His brain was no longer what it had been; it 
was too cobwebby and dull, too prone to causeless 
rancor and too eaten away by endless misery. 

As he sat thus in despairing meditation he won¬ 
dered what this sweet, gentle woman had suffered 
in enduring life’s fearful ordeal that had purged 
her of sin. He was at a loss to understand what 
illness could have caused her death—why had they 
not notified him?—his aroused fibres swelled with 
the assurance that he would have saved her! His 
fury instantly faded into a miserable hopelessness. 
Occurred to him Omar’s decision that he should 
fling this dust aside. He could lie upon this couch 
and with the aid of his drugs glide from this clay 
carcass as easily and gently as he attained to life’s 
nocturnal slumbers—and join the coruscant soul of 
his Freda who was waiting for his coming there in 
the umbrageous darkness. Together they would 
journey away into the infinite Elysian mansions. 
Nay, his material self told him that the dead are 
dead—that he merely would be throwing himself 
uselessly into the grave. 

But the feeling clung to him that Freda was lin¬ 
gering near him in that spirit realm. He visualized 
her aureous phantom with her alluring arms gently 
extended to him and her eyes and lips smiling in 
her gayety. His arms trembled with his desire to 
enfold her. His mind reverted to mortal realities, 
delving into those olden scenes of their days together. 
What a cruel thing was life to teach one the rap- 





REDEMPTION 


345 


ture of such hours, then to destroy them! He re¬ 
called the infatuating lurefulness of her during those 
first days in his office. He visioned again her daz¬ 
zling beauty and uncanny excitement in that weird 
first hour in their love nest, when, forsaking their 
love feast, she had enthroned him in the grotesque 
chair of the Chinese joss and had pleaded excitedly 
before him for the marriage ceremony in spite of 
its illegality—until, overwrought, she had fallen 
into unconsciousness. In her unnatural repose, her 
golden locks gleaming brilliantly against the silky 
red rug in the lamp glow, how like a bewitching 
life-filled jewel she had seemed, a toy fit for the 
gods. With what a furore of love she had thrilled 
hi m —ever!—and what would he not give to have 
those hours return? But, alas! how greatly he had 
made her suffer. 

Not until the third day did Doctor Rumford go 
to Freda’s bier. It was a broken man that stood 
beside the casket enflowered and aglow in the soft 
radiance of the electric lights. A group of fas¬ 
tidious, worldly men, old friends of the Warner 
family, surrounded him. They had given her a 
great send off, their honeyed young pal, whom some 
of them had known since her infancy. She seemed 
gently reposing in sleep, just as the doctor had seen 
her lie many times in that bed of their olden love 
nest. He sensed her as being still there within that 
beautiful body, and never had this doctor felt more 
keenly his mortal impotence nor the inevitableness 
of earthly punishment. They had been punished. 


346 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


With curious eyes watching him he bowed and his 
lips touched the cold brow. The tears were pour¬ 
ing from his eyes, his lips quivering. Even Mrs. 
Warner sobbed anew in observing his inutterable 
grief. In attempting to arise he staggered and fell, 
his head striking upon the casket and jarring it. 
Kindly masculine hands uplifted and supported 
him. A glass of brandy was handed him. The 
liquor’s crinkling taste aroused in him instantly a 
ravenous craving for more; it indicated a means of 
securing the desired forgetfulness, a kind of obli¬ 
vion. 

Doctor Rumford did not accompany the hearse 
to the cemetery, mainly because he wished to retain 
his last recollection of his worshiped Freda as his 
golden woman of eternity—not the casket’s encas¬ 
ing pine box, the spading workmen, the flower be¬ 
decked hillock of rough brown earth. 

When he returned home that day he felt that for 
himself the bird of time had but a little way to 
flutter ere he too would lie beneath the ivy. That 
night his soul was wrapped in a shroud of miser¬ 
able loneliness. 

For days he remained in bed, drinking incessantly, 
wholly neglecting every detail of his life. Now that 
the chimerical factor of his dream life was gone, 
however, his pride began to awaken. He felt urged 
to seek self-redemption. He slowly took note of 
the admirable qualities of Luella. He attained a 
truer valuation of her chastity, of her marvelous 
motherhood, and of her unwavering loyalty to him— 


REDEMPTION 


347 


in these circumstances that would have led most any 
woman to seek a divorce. He decided that so true 
a woman deserved a better fate than this cruel mis¬ 
ery she was uncomplainingly enduring at his hands. 
He therefore bestirred himself and took account 
of his dimished resources. 

With the unburnt remnants of his furnishings a 
less pretentious office was fitted up, and he resumed 
his work of relieving pain and suffering. Some of 
his former patients, however, were not so kindly dis¬ 
posed toward him; the green vapor of ignominy, of 
shame and dishonor, is not so easily dissipated. 
Some seemed bent on remembering only the evil 
he had done, and humiliating incidents occurred 
often. Not infrequently he was chilled by fear of 
punishment! But he was strengthened by his assur¬ 
ance of salvation through the atonement of Jesus 
Christ. 

He ever endured infinite loneliness, but en¬ 
deavored to find surcease of sorrow in his work. 
Although remembrance of Freda clung to his mind, 
he was no longer distracted from his labors by her 
actual presence or by the futile dreams he once en¬ 
tertained of their future together. 

His sole sustaining prop was the devotion of 
Luella. She occasionally went to the theatre with 
him now—a comrade in his search for forgetful¬ 
ness. Her children were returned to her. She had 
forgiven him for the wrongs he had done. His 
heart was always warmed by this knowledge of her 
constancy. Gradually a kindlier feeling toward her 


348 WITCHERY OF AN ORIENTAL LAMP 


was generated in his mind—the mature affection of 
one who has learned from life’s adversity. 

This physician had awakened to the evil effects of 
alcoholic drinks upon him and his dependents. 
He strove to put into effect his resolve to cease 
drinking. The call of alcohol remained strong in 
his veins and tortured him. The dark recesses of 
a photo-play theatre often served as a battle ground 
for his struggles. 

Nemesis pursued him. Saloon-men who were 
for selfish reasons numbered among his patients re¬ 
peatedly presented him quart bottles of famous 
brands in an endeavor to lure a once lucrative cus¬ 
tomer into their toils again. And in those dark 
moments of depression when his children became 
ill or his cases went wrong his struggle to keep from 
drinking was doubly hard. 

Eventually these struggles were ameliorated to a 
certain extent when a great goodness swayed the 
nation to the accomplishment of a noted legis¬ 
lative act and the Eighteenth Amendment became 
a reality. No longer did John Barleycorn beckon 
openly from the street corners. The opportunity 
for Doctor Rumford’s redemption was his in full 
measure, but he alone was responsible for the eventu¬ 
ality. 


THE END 





MAY 1 9 li>23 

























































